


Revenge of the Subtext

by MittenWraith



Series: Everything is Subtext [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence after 10.20, Case Fic, Community: deancasbigbang, Crack, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, French Mistake style AU, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel, Humor, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pie AND Cake, Shower Sex, Smut, Supernatural Convention, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, description of canon-typical violence, kale - Freeform, something for everyone really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are finally settling back down to normal since Cas gave up his grace to cure Dean of the Mark. Well, as normal as their lives are allowed to get. Sam relentlessly finds new cases to work, one right after the other; but Dean thinks they need a break to let Cas have some purely human fun, for once. It’s true they had a difficult time readjusting to humanity at first, but Dean thinks Cas deserves to do more than ride around in the back seat and follow them on monster hunts. Then again, Dean’s a little bit scared to ask exactly what Cas would want, just in case it doesn’t include spending quite so much time with him. And with Sam (of course).<br/>Sam’s been tracking a series of odd occurrences in Laramie, Wyoming for the last few weeks that looks just enough like a case to finally convince Dean they should go check it out. Whether they like it or not, the goddess responsible for the weirdness in Laramie takes an immediate interest in the three less-than-perfectly-happy hunters who’ve stumbled into her town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first DCBB! I need to thank [meangreenlimabean](http://meangreenlimabean.tumblr.com/) for sparking the entire idea for this story with a single sentence, and then for agreeing to beta read it when it grew completely out of control. <3  
>   
> Another round of thanks to [rainbofiction](http://rainbofiction.tumblr.com/) for also helping beta (and for making me really think about pacing!)  
>   
> Also, all of the incredible artwork was created by [im-the-deanartist](http://im-the-deanartist.tumblr.com/), and the art masterpost can be found [RIGHT HERE](http://im-the-deanartist.tumblr.com/post/130266015601/revenge-of-the-subtext-a-2015-dcbb-80k). *go on and click it, it's AMAZING!* *and I'm eternally grateful and sort of blubbery-slobbery giddy about it*  
>   
> Note regarding RPF status of this story: This is RPF in the same way the characters in 6.15 The French Mistake are RPF. To quote Cas/Misha: it's an alternate reality, a universe similar to ours in most respects yet dramatically different in others. This is not Real Actual RPF.  
>   
> One last quick but very important note: I began writing this in April. This is my version of canon events through the end of S10, which swerves wildly off course after 10.20 Angel Heart. You know what I'm saying here. *ahem* Charlie lives.

“Five fucking weeks, Sammy.”

Sam sighed and shook his head. He’d been subjected to a nearly identical rant three times in the last five hours. Cas was either dead asleep in the back seat, or smart enough to fake it and spare himself from getting involved in the circular argument.

Sam had been trying to focus on the scenery flying past his window as they sped toward their latest hunt; a series of strange events in and around Laramie, Wyoming. Since the sun had set, staring out the window at the vast nothingness of the prairie became less and less effective as a distraction technique. It was just miles and miles of empty pitch darkness. And Dean wasn’t deterred by his silence.

“What, are we suddenly the only hunters left in the whole damn country? Are we trying to make up for taking off for a few weeks after… everything?”

Neither of them wanted to fill in that gap. Everything, in this case, was a fitting enough description. Dean came _this close_ to running off to howl at the moon again before both he and Cas nearly died from the spell that cured the mark. And then Sam had spent days playing nursemaid to the both of them as they recovered.

He’d called them big babies, but never directly to their faces. Dean had heard him grumbling when Sam thought he was alone, but he didn’t begrudge his brother’s sentiment. It was accurate, Dean conceded, in a metaphorical sort of way. He and Cas had crawled through an inferno-- literally burning the demon out of Dean and the angel out of Cas in one go-- to both be reborn as humans again.

Sam had done his best to keep his frustration to himself. He’d seen what they went through firsthand and he knew it would be enough to make anyone want to sleep for a week afterward. Dean knew that even a saint’s patience would’ve worn thin after a few days of caring for two of the grumpiest patients in Kansas history. Even Charlie only deigned to grace them with her presence for three days after recovering from her concussion-- and securing a promise from Sam to call her if he needed a break from tending to the ogres.

Eventually they both crawled out of their rooms and rejoined the world, much to Sam’s relief. After a month of regaining their strength, and training to get back into hunting form, the three of them had hit the road for their first case. They’d barely stopped for a breather since.

“No, Dean. We were just the closest to Laramie and it looks pretty straightforward.”

Dean clenched down on the steering wheel, knuckles going white, shoulders hunching up around his ears. “Don’t you dare say this is an easy hunt, because every time someone says it’s an easy hunt it goes straight to hell.” He leaned forward and glared out at the darkness surrounding the Impala, as if waiting for the inevitable bolt of lightning conjured by Sam’s act of near-hubris.

“I didn’t say it was easy, I said it was straightforward. And no one is dead, or even injured. It’s just weird shit happening.”

Dean relaxed by fractions and made a half-hearted grunt of noncommittal agreement.

“I thought you wanted to get out of the bunker anyway? All you’d been talking about for a month before we started taking cases again was getting Cas some experience hunting.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but we haven’t even been back home for more than two days in a row in over _five weeks_.”

“Sure, but you and Cas spent the five weeks before _that_ adjusting to being human again. Living with the both of you at the beginning was like sharing space with a couple of trolls who only ventured out of their caves to scavenge for food. It was actually getting a little gross there for a while. I kept expecting one of you to hiss at me and scurry off every time I tried to talk to you.” Sam muttered something about _sneaky hobbitses_ under his breath.

Dean ignored his brother’s Gollum impersonation but mentally added it to the list of things he’d get back at Sam for someday.

“I did not spend five weeks in my room, Sam.” He thought about it for a second and shrugged, conceding, but just a little. “Maybe five days. And then we spent the rest of the month teaching Cas how to hunt without getting himself killed. Then we started actually taking cases. I’m just saying, it might be nice to do something other than train and drive and work for a while. Cas is adjusting to hunting just fine. He dug most of the grave on that one case last week, and the week before he took out that werewolf with one bullet. _One bullet,_ Sam. He’s got this.”

Dean surreptitiously stole a glance in the rear view mirror at the ex-angel in question; slumped against the passenger side door, head pillowed against a wadded up jacket, mouth slightly open, drooling a bit. Dean felt a smile tug at his mouth and clamped it down tight, with a pointed reminder that nothing he’d just seen was even remotely adorable. Sam pretended not to notice his brother’s internal dilemma playing out across his face in high definition technicolor until Dean started talking again, his voice lower so as not to wake Cas.

“I just think the guy deserves a break. Billions of years as a soldier in God’s army, then he finally wriggles free of that and what do we do? Put him back into basic training and throw him straight to the fucking front lines again. Poor bastard deserves a chance to experience some of the better parts of being human, is all.”

“Whatever you say, Dean, but sitting around the bunker doing nothing for weeks at a time isn’t exactly what springs to mind when I think of the highlights of humanity.”

Dean glared at him for three whole beats before refocusing on the desolate road. “We weren’t just sitting around, Sam. Metadouche may have given him the big download of entertainment references, but it’s like none of it connected up right. I’ve been helping him sort through it all and give it the proper context.”

Sam grinned at his brother. “Is that how you two justify spending all your free time in the last couple of months watching movies?”

“Cas thought it would help,” Dean argued, shrinking down in his seat a little under Sam’s scrutiny. “He, uh, said it was disorienting, or whatever. Having so much random information stuck in his head, now that his head’s not the size of a fucking hot air balloon or whatever anymore.”

Sam nodded and refocused on the only visible scenery, the asphalt stretched out beneath the Impala’s headlights in front of them. It’s true they’d been spending a ridiculous amount of time huddled away in one corner of the bunker or another, bent together over Dean’s laptop and watching movie after tv show after movie. Sam lost count of how many times he’d walked in on them, but he did have to admit that from what he’d heard, Dean had been doing a thorough job of putting all the perplexing references into context so Cas could finally understand them, rather than merely recognize them. And he couldn’t argue the fact that it had given them both something positive and fun to focus on rather than dwelling on all the shit they’d been through.

The Mark of Cain was gone, but Dean still had nightmares. Just like when Cas first brought him back from Hell, Sam figured it would take a while for Dean to stop flinching every time he said or did or saw something that would’ve triggered the Mark.

They’d accidentally bumped into each other in the hall the day after he was cured, and Dean grabbed at his right arm and flung himself back against the wall away from his brother, waiting for the urge to fight and kill to drown him. He’d withdrawn completely into himself, eyes clenched shut and teeth gritted together, holding his breath. Sam stayed with him, hovering close but not touching for minutes that felt like hours as Dean slowly came back to himself. During the day he seemed almost back to normal, but Sam knew he was still having the nightmares. Noise really carried through the tiled hallways of the bunker, and like a mother tuned in to her child’s cries, Sam had become especially attuned to his brother’s screams.

Cas had been struggling in his own way. He’d given up his grace for good, of his own free will. He actually _wanted_ to be human, which both Sam and Dean had felt a little conflicted about. Dean seemed relieved that Cas chose to stick around for once, but he couldn’t let go of the guilt that Cas had given up his grace to cure him. Dean had given him a choice, but it wasn’t really much of a choice. Burn away everything that had made him an angel since the beginning of time or spend the rest of eternity watching Dean burn down all of creation.

Weeks before they’d learned about the grace cure, Dean had tried to convince Cas that it would be easier to find a nice black hole somewhere and just throw him in, but Cas wouldn’t hear of it. After Cas spent ten minutes describing in excruciating detail exactly what would happen to a person in a black hole, Dean agreed it sounded less than ideal. And then neither of them could even look at a plate of spaghetti for at least a week afterward.

When Dean finally brought him a legitimate potential solution, Cas eagerly agreed to participate in the spell that finally freed his soul from the Mark. Dean still felt guilty as hell that, once again, it was his fault that Cas would suffer. It was his fault that Cas had to pull him out of Hell the first time, his fault that Cas rebelled against Heaven and was cast out, his fault that Cas was compelled to ally himself with fucking Crowley, his fault that Cas took on the broken part of Sam’s soul and went crazy, and his fault that Cas ended up in Purgatory. Now, it’s his fault that Cas was human, mortal, and stuck that way for the rest of his life. No amount of reassurance from Cas that he was tired of being an angel and looking forward to living out a single human lifetime on Earth as long as he had the Winchesters for company seemed to placate Dean.

Sam was worried about Cas for entirely different reasons, because Sam was in full possession of all his sensory and logical faculties. During the year or so since Dean took on the Mark, Sam had spent a lot of time with Cas, mostly worrying about Dean. While Dean was off tripping the light fantastic with Crowley, Sam had been the one to keep Cas going despite the fading stolen grace doing it’s best to fry him from the inside. Watching his friend nearly burn himself out in a very literal fashion several times while trying to find a cure for Dean at the expense of saving himself, Sam came to a few realizations about the angel.

Over the years since Castiel had blazed into their lives, the facts had been piling up. It was impossible to deny that Cas considered both of them them his friends, but that one strange phrase he’d uttered years ago came hurtling back to the forefront of Sam’s mind. _Dean and I do share a more profound bond._ And yeah, it used to sting a bit. Cas pulled Sam out of Hell too, even if he hadn’t done quite as thorough a job of it. He’d tried, which was more than Sam could say about anyone else in the known universe, so he had to give Cas credit for that. But after watching the two of them for years, Sam had to agree. There was something more there between Cas and Dean. Something profound.

And now that worried him, because Cas had made about the biggest sacrifice possible for an angel to make in order to save Dean. Sam was convinced Cas wouldn’t have made the same offer for anyone else on the planet-- himself included. Maybe not for anyone else in the _history_ of the planet. But he’d done it for Dean without thinking twice. To Sam, that said something about how much Cas really cared for his brother, but he wasn’t sure if Dean would ever figure that out for himself.

Sam watched Cas watch Dean; and the more he watched, the more obvious it became that there were deeper feelings there. As far as Sam could tell, Dean was still trying to hide himself under a bulletproof shell layered in at least nine kinds of guilt and viciously repressed any kind of emotions that might trigger a flashback to his days as a demon, for good or ill.

For a while, it had seemed fine to keep busy hunting. The three of them made a surprisingly efficient and cohesive team, especially now that Cas was really getting the hang of humanity. Where in the past he was stiff and awkward when interviewing witnesses, or downright terrifying sometimes, he’d developed a disarming and rather endearing charm. He could still pull off the whole _I am an Angel of the Lord and I will smite your ass_ vibe when needed, but he seemed to have a handle on which circumstances actually called for an avenging angel and kept the smiting safely stowed away the rest of the time.

All things considered, Sam had to admit his brother had a point now. They needed to take a breather. All three of them did, really. It’s not like Sam’s life had been a walk in the park the last few years, either.

He sneaked a glance over at Dean, grateful he at least wasn’t grumbling under his breath anymore. Dean seemed to have settled back into his own thoughts while Sam had been taking stock.

“I think you’re right,” Sam said after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Dean took his eyes off the road for a second to evaluate his brother, who was still staring straight ahead. Even so, Sam didn’t miss it when Dean’s eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror to check on Cas yet again. “Right about what?”

“About Cas.” Sam hedged on what to say outright and let Dean’s reactions guide his words. “He’s good on all the basic human shit. He knew most of that from before. And he’s proven he can hunt just as well as you or me.”

Dean shot a wary look at Sam. “Yeah. So?”

“So, you’re right. He deserves a chance to just… be human for a while. If that’s what he wants.”

“You mean let him quit hunting with us? What, just send him back to work at the fucking Gas ‘n Sip?”

Sam resisted the urge to sigh and roll his eyes. “No, Dean. You know that’s not what I meant. I don’t think that’s what he wants anyway.” He couldn’t contain the sigh any longer at that point.

“So, what then?” Dean asked cautiously.

“So, when we’re done in Laramie, no more hunts for a while. Cas can huddle under blankets in the bunker and watch movies with you for a week, or a month, if that’s what you guys want. Or we can take him to Disneyland, or the Grand Canyon, or, I don’t know, Vegas, maybe? Just, do some things that normal humans would consider some of the finer points of humanity.”

Dean grinned evilly at that suggestion. “Vegas is one of the finer points of humanity, now? Awww, Sammy, you itching to get hitched again?”

Sam stiffened and sucked in a tight breath of air. “You promised you’d never mention that again, Dean.”

“You’re the one who suggested Vegas.” Dean shrugged.

“Okay, strike Nevada off the list of options entirely.” Sam took a page out of Cas’s playbook and leaned his head against the door to sulk. Or sleep. Since his eyes were closed, it counted as sleep.

In the back seat, Cas kept his eyes shut too, but he’d heard every word that passed between the Winchesters. He wondered what humanity had in store for him next.


	2. Chapter 2

Just after eight o’clock, they pulled into the crowded little parking lot of what seemed to be a slightly nicer motel than they usually ended up at. Dean had driven nearly straight through the entire town in search of a place to stay before giving up and settling for what almost qualified as a proper hotel on the northern outskirts. It was the closest motel to the neighborhood where most of the strange occurrences had been reported, so Sam didn’t give their upgraded digs too much scrutiny. He decided to let go of any other potential reasons Dean might have to suddenly break decades of tradition staying in fleabag motels on hunts.

He and Cas gathered their bags and waited by the car while Dean checked in. Five minutes later, Dean practically bounced his way back to them with a canary-eating grin plastered on his face. Sam didn’t even want to know what that meant, but Cas was intrigued. Dean said nothing though. Just took his duffel from Sam and headed up the stairs along the side of the building.

Sam shot Cas a concerned look, which Cas returned with a remarkably human shrug before setting off after Dean. They caught up with Dean as he unlocked the door to the last room at the end of the hall. He cracked it open and then turned dramatically, holding the knob to keep the door from swinging wide.

“This was the only room they had left, so they didn’t charge extra for it when I flashed my badge.”

“Dean, you can’t do that, you know? This place looks halfway reputable. They might check on that sort of thing.”

Dean’s face fell a little. “I used the Sioux Falls Police badge, not the FBI. Jody will cover for us.”

Sam somehow looked even more incredulous but he let it go. Jody _would_ cover for them, but Dean had already wrecked any chance of using their FBI identities during the hunt. Still, if it got them a decent room for once, it might almost be worth it.

“Can we go inside now, Dean?” Cas looked even more rumpled than usual after sleeping for most of the six hour drive. Not to mention that waking up wasn’t his favorite human activity by a long shot.

Dean scowled at them both. “You guys are no fun anymore.”

He finally let them into the room. It was definitely cleaner than they were used to, but it looked about like any of the double rooms they’d ever stayed in. Cas and Sam each set their bags down on one of the two beds in the room, but for once Dean didn’t complain about being relegated to the couch. He just kept walking past the small bathroom to what at first appeared to be a closet door but turned out to be a second bedroom with an additional king sized bed.

Dean strolled in and set his bag down on the larger bed. “So, since you two suckers already claimed that room, I’ll take this one.” He kicked the door shut behind himself, and two seconds later Cas and Sam heard a gleeful shout followed by the grind of bed springs as Dean flung himself down on the huge mattress.

“Jesus, Dean, don’t break the place.” Sam called out.

Cas ventured over to the closed door and knocked. “Dean? Are we going to eat dinner soon?”

It was silent for a minute or two, then Dean groaned along with the creaking springs as he dragged himself out of bed. “Suppose we should.” The door opened again and Dean emerged, stretching after finally getting to really move around for the first time in hours.

“We should also check out the scenes,” Sam suggested. “Or at least get started on it. A few of them are probably easier to get a good look at after dark, when there aren’t so many witnesses wondering what the hell we’re up to.”

Dean conceded. “Good point. But food first.”

They piled back into the Impala and headed for a diner down the street from their hotel. It was past the busy dinner rush and they essentially had the place to themselves. Cas had been steadily working his way through every conceivable type of cuisine now that he could really taste the food instead of being overwhelmed by its molecular components. His favorite still seemed to be a good old greasy diner cheeseburger, just like Dean. The two of them had taken to ordering the same thing in every diner they’d visited, and dinner conversation tended to veer off into fond reminiscences of which diners had the best and worst cheeseburgers. Sam mostly left them to it and just tried to order whatever looked least likely to give him a coronary.

Three strangers sitting in an otherwise empty diner tended to attract the attention of the waitstaff, if for no other reason than to break up the boredom of a quiet and lonely night at work. It didn’t hurt that the three strangers were more than conventionally attractive and sharing in an animated conversation filled with laughter and teasing. Whatever the reason, Janelle the waitress was drawn to their table again and again.

She’d overheard Dean listing off his favorite pies to Cas as they were finishing their burgers, and wondering if there were any on the menu. She cut three slices of a fresh pecan pie and brought them over to their table without any other prompting. When she set a slice down in front of Dean, he lit up like it was Christmas morning and Santa had been feeling especially generous. Cas looked up at her, head tilted and eyebrows squinched together, puzzled but pleased that at least Dean seemed so happy with this unexpected development.

Sam had to go and ruin it. “Oh, no pie for me, thanks.”

Dean glared at him. “Are you looking a gift pie in the mouth, Sammy? Where are your manners?”

Janelle was on the verge of apologizing and taking Sam’s pie away when Dean reached across the table and nudged the small plate toward her. He craned his neck around, seeing nothing but empty tables, and kicked at Sam’s feet under the table to get him to scoot over and make room. “Sit down, why don’tcha. If Sam doesn’t want it, there’s no reason a perfect slice of pecan pie should go to waste.” He smiled up at her, the pure delight on his face being all the encouragement she needed to join them.

“I don’t get too many offers like this,” she said, sitting in the seat next to Sam. “But I know how good this pie is, and I know I’d be a fool to turn it down.” She grinned at Sam, and he laughed.

“I’ve been sitting all day, and dinner was great, but more than enough for me. How about if I promise to come back tomorrow after we’ve had a chance to work up a proper appetite, and I’ll eat whatever kind of pie you think is best?”

Janelle smiled at Sam and took a bite of her pie. “I can live with that.”

Meanwhile, across the table, Dean was in raptures, devouring his slice with heady abandon, while Cas ate his with at least some modicum of dignity. At least he stopped between bites to praise its flavor and thank Janelle.

“I can see why this is one of your favorites, Dean. It’s very good.”

Dean didn’t notice Sam glaring at him when he answered with his mouth full. “Yeah. Practically melts in your mouth, right?”

Cas teased out another bite with his fork, working around a particularly large pecan. “Except for the nuts, yes, I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”

Dean coughed, choking on the bite he’d been trying to swallow, and Cas reached over to pat his back until he could breathe properly again. Sam just sat there shaking his head at them while Janelle grinned at the fond concern Cas showed Dean.

“Are you okay, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas. You were right, the nuts don’t melt in your mouth.” It took everything in him not to laugh like a twelve-year-old at his own comment, but he succeeded.

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored them in favor of talking to an actual grownup for a few minutes. “So, Janelle, we’re only in town for a few days but we’ll have some free time. Is there anything we should be sure to see while we’re here?”

It was an innocent question, but she tensed up and dropped her fork onto the empty plate in front of her before turning to give Sam a considering look. As per usual, despite being a gigantor, Sam invoked his natural talent for appearing unassuming and friendly enough for a stranger to open up to him in a way they might not with anyone else.

“It’s a shame you weren’t here last week, then. We had a genuine medieval castle about a mile from here. That would’ve definitely been worth your time to see.” Of course that tidbit had popped up in Sam’s research, but playing ignorant tourist had worked for them so far and he really wanted to hear a firsthand account of this one. “You _had_ a castle? What happened to it?”

Janelle shrugged and smiled. “No idea. It was just suddenly there, and then a few days later it was gone again.”

“Like, a full-on castle?”

She nodded. “All made of stone, surrounded by a moat, the works. It showed up out of nowhere Tuesday morning, and was gone by Friday. I would’ve thought I dreamed it if I didn’t take a couple of pictures of it.” She pulled out her phone and showed the pictures to Sam. They were taken from a different angle than the picture he’d seen online, but it was definitely the same building. Er, castle.

“Does this sort of thing happen a lot around here?” Sam asked, handing her phone back.

“Seems like it, lately. Two days ago, our busboy called to quit. Out of nowhere, he’d decided to open his own bar.”

“That doesn’t seem too strange.”

“Well, you don’t know Buddy. He’s only a few years outta high school, and he’s been working twelve hour days here since. And then literally overnight he somehow gets his hands on the most popular nightclub in town. I have no idea where he got the money to buy the place, or the time. I’m half owner of this fine establishment,” she said, waving a hand around the restaurant, “and I know how long it took my sister and me to get set up when we opened it. It took weeks, and we weren’t starting from scratch. The diner was already here, it just needed a little work, but even the building Buddy got himself seemed to spring up overnight in a vacant lot out by the highway.”

They all talked for a few more minutes about some of the other weird incidents around town. She covered a couple of the strange events Sam had catalogued while researching back at the bunker. A day after the castle vanished again, there’d been a minor frenzy at a shopping mall when all the shop owners suddenly felt compelled to give things away for nothing. Most of the shops closed down after an hour or two, when their inventories had been depleted, and didn’t reopen for nearly a week. The owners had all suffered huge losses, but when they eventually dared to go back to survey the damage and reopen their shops, everything they’d given away was right back on the shelves. The owner of one small boutique actually checked herself into a hospital for observation. She was convinced the whole event had been some sort of delusion, or that it must’ve been brought on by some sort of poisoning, but extensive tests couldn’t find anything wrong with her at all.

It didn’t get them any closer to an explanation, but it was nice to have some of the events they’d read about confirmed by a local, rather than having to rely on secondhand accounts from the internet.

They paid for their meal, adding enough to the bill to more than cover the three slices of pie plus a generous tip, before leaving with a promise to return the next night for dinner so Sam could fully appreciate the pie. And if Dean’s observations had been accurate, so that his brother could also have a little more time to flirt with Janelle.

“We should definitely check that bar out,” Dean said, sliding into the Impala and starting the engine. He hadn’t been to a bar in months, since before the mark was gone. It wasn't the alcohol that made him wary. He had no problem with a few beers with dinner, or the occasional drunken movie night with Sam, Cas, and Charlie; but he still associated bars with some of his lowest moments in the last year. Somehow, it wasn’t a terrifying proposition for him anymore. Maybe the last few months of getting back to their old routine of hunting full time had been better for him than he’d thought.

“Maybe we should save the bar for last, Dean.”

Dean side-eyed his brother and grunted out an uncomfortable laugh. He knew full well what he’d put both Sam and Cas through before he was rehumanized, and he still felt far too guilty to make jokes about it. “Sure. Where to first, then?”

They spent the better part of an hour driving around the north end of town, visiting a few of the sites on their list. Sam had initially compiled the background information for this case over several weeks on a sheet of paper labeled _Weird Shit in Laramie, Wyoming_ , and it was an accurate title. It hadn’t seemed like dangerous weird shit, but it was getting weirder. He’d backburnered it in favor of investigating more urgent and life-threatening cases, but when those ran dry, he’d pushed for the trip to Laramie. Half his reasons for going were just to see the weirdness for himself and confirm that it all wasn’t some sort of elaborate hoax. He’d given it a fifty-fifty shot that the articles were the product of the editorial staff at the local paper just having a laugh. After seeing Janelle’s pictures of the castle and noting how uneasy she was as she related the tale of Buddy the busboy-turned-barman, he’d found himself reevaluating the odds that something supernatural was behind the town’s string of unusual occurrences.

Their first stop was at a small neighborhood park-- not much more than a few picnic tables and a jungle gym bordered by a dozen yards of grass-- where a huge oak tree had appeared three weeks ago. When he’d first seen an article about it on a freaky news search, Sam had thought it could be the result of an angel falling to earth the same way Anna did. Three days later, the tree vanished as if it had never been there at all. He wrote it off at the time as some sort of mass hallucination until more strange stories started to trickle in from the same neighborhood. The reports were so closely clustered together and so seemingly benign that Sam had developed his theory of the industriously creative journalist.

The suburban house that had been replaced by a medieval Scottish castle for a few days-- then poof, back to a three bedroom ranch-- was indistinguishable from any other house on the street when they drove by. Sam was only convinced they had the right location because the distinctive mailbox was clearly visible in one of Janelle’s pictures. It was painted a garish yellow with _The Donoghues_ spelled out in reflective silver letters.

They carefully checked each location out for EMF, sulfur, hex bags, and everything else they could think of, but there was nothing even remotely supernatural to detect. There wasn’t even a mark on the ground where the tree had been; not a single stray oak leaf lying around. Sam compared the locations to the photos he'd pulled from the internet of the imposing stone castle towering above the neighborhood, and a massive spreading oak that dwarfed the jungle gym that otherwise dominated the little park. Before he’d seen Janelle’s pictures, Sam supposed the online photos could’ve been faked. Standing in the exact spot where they were taken, he knew that if they weren't real, they were some of the best photoshop jobs he’d ever seen.

There were other reports that involved individuals rather than property. The most interesting among them was an elderly man who’d paraded around town for a few days with a gorgeous woman who could’ve been a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model on his arm before sullenly resuming his usual afternoon walks with his even more sullen appearing wife. Seeing as how it was after ten pm, Sam decided they’d need to wait until morning to conduct any interviews.

“So does that mean we can finally head to the bar?” Dean asked as they drove away from the mall after their sweep for signs of supernatural interference had again come up empty.

“I think that’s the only other lead we can follow up on tonight, so, sure. Why not?” Sam spared a glance back at Castiel and caught his eye long enough for an unspoken agreement to pass between them. “Just remember we are still technically working a case.”

Dean glared back at him and clenched his teeth together for the rest of the two minute drive.

Barely a quarter mile or so down the same road their motel was on, Dean pulled into the bar’s large parking lot, lit by a huge sign spelling out _One Wish_ in glaring yellow neon lights. The lot was full to overflowing with cars, and they could already hear music and laughter pouring out from the bar’s open front doors even with the windows closed and the engine still running. Dean shut off the car and took the opportunity to glare over at his brother more thoroughly for implying he couldn’t stay focused on a case. Sam just looked calmly back, so Dean rolled his eyes before getting out of the car and stomping off toward the bar’s welcoming open doors.

Sam held Cas back from chasing after Dean. “Just… keep an eye on him.”

Cas nodded solemnly while slipping into his jacket. “I believe he’ll be fine, Sam. I think he needs to prove that to himself.”

They found Dean at the near end of a long, polished wood bar running down one entire wall of the establishment, waiting his turn to order drinks. The rest of the place seemed about like any other college town bar. Lots of tables, a decently sized dance floor, and an overabundance of highly intoxicated college students.

Sam was about to interrupt Dean and ask him to hand over the EMF meter when he realized his brother already had it out, covertly scanning along the underside of the bar with no results. He breathed a double sigh of relief. No EMF meant no ghosts, but even better, Dean was taking this seriously. It cheered Sam immensely. He hadn’t realized how stressed he’d been about bringing Dean into a situation that might trigger one of his admittedly less frequent flashbacks. Seeing Dean like this, in his element like he used to be before the Mark, grounded him in a way he hadn’t felt in over a year. Instead of the irritated reminder to work the case he’d been prepared to issue under his breath, he clapped his brother on the shoulder and asked if Dean could order him a beer while he went to find them a table.

“Sure thing,” Dean said, with a relieved little smile as he turned to watch Sam saunter off toward an empty table. Cas, however, stayed by his side. “What do you want to drink, Cas?”

“Whatever you and Sam are having is fine with me,” Cas answered casually, which made Dean absolutely beam with delight. Their little human socialization lessons were really paying off. Not only did Cas understand and use a ridiculous number of references now, he was also starting to relax into normal, everyday banter without looking completely lost-- or worse, like it caused him physical pain to try.

Between Dean and Sam, they’d even convinced him to leave the trench coat behind most days, and bought him an assortment of other jackets and coats to wear according to which was most appropriate. Currently he was wearing Dean’s favorite, a black leather jacket they’d found at a thrift shop while on a hunt up in Michigan a few weeks earlier. Dean had wanted to buy it for himself and was upset when the jacket didn’t fit him well, but it fit Cas like a dream. Like several dreams, possibly. Several dreams that Dean absolutely would not allow himself to think about while out in public. Or while standing next to Cas while he was wearing that jacket.

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from Cas the second he realized he’d been staring, but Cas was still smiling back benignly. Luckily for Dean, the bartender was ready for his order and he didn’t have to think about Cas and his perfectly-fitted badass jacket for at least a few more minutes. He laid his money on the bar and placed his order, using the distraction to fix his traitorous mind back onto the case. The woman opened three bottles of beer and slid them across the bar to Dean with a wink, but he didn’t even notice the small flirtation. He’d been too busy scanning the rows of bottles on the shelves behind the bar for hex bags or anything else out of place. It was almost easier to have a job to focus on amidst the chaos of the bar.

“Here you go,” he said, handing Cas one of the open bottles.

Cas simply nodded and accepted it with a smile, gesturing out with his empty hand for Dean to lead the way. It was just one more thing on the steadily growing list of things that made Dean smile. Each time Cas succeeded at bringing out a smile felt like a small victory for both of them.

They had to squeeze together to make it through the crowd between the bar and Sam’s table, but it gave Dean a chance to fill Cas in on what he’d observed, which was disappointingly little. If it gave him an excuse to press a little closer than he’d otherwise let himself get to Cas, though, he’d take full advantage of the situation.

“The bar’s clean, at least on this end. I haven’t seen a single sign of anything fishy.” Dean tamped down the warm tingle of gratification he felt when Cas leaned in close to continue their conversation. It had been a long time since he’d bothered to complain about Cas straying too far into his personal space. It was getting harder and harder to remind himself that it was just Cas and his continued ignorance of social boundaries rather than any specific desire to be physically closer to Dean. Despite all the progress Cas had made toward exemplary human behavior, Dean still stubbornly refused to admit that Cas understood exactly what he was doing by hovering so close to him all the time. The few times he dared to entertain the thought, he instantly repressed the fuck out of it. If he was wrong about it; well, he didn’t even want to think about how badly that conversation could go. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances, and it didn’t stop him from selfishly, secretly savoring every second of Cas pressed up against his side and whispering into his ear.

“I have seen nothing extraordinary, either. But perhaps we should seek out the owner before we jump to any conclusions.”

Dean looked back into Cas’s eyes from inches away. It took him longer than it should’ve to swallow down the sudden urge to close what little distance remained between them and refocus on the case. Dean cleared his throat as Cas broke their staring match first to take a sip of his beer.

“Yeah. We should definitely do that,” Dean said lamely before noticing Sam waving at them from the next table over, poring over an article about the bar on his iPad.

“So get this,” Sam said, taking the beer Dean slid across the table to him. “Three days ago this was a construction lot, nothing but dirt and rubble. The building literally sprang up overnight, and this is only the third day they’ve been open.”

Dean looked around at the crowded yet comfortable bar. The other patrons didn’t seem too concerned about the bar’s shady origins. They were just out having a good time.

The building itself sort of reminded him of a roomier version of the Roadhouse, but with more of a polished-up chain restaurant feel. The wood-paneled walls were covered with framed posters from decades worth of concerts that reflected the assortment of rock and pop music being piped in through an invisible sound system. He’d also spotted half a dozen different people wearing black polo shirts embroidered in huge neon yellow letters across the back with the _One Wish_ logo from the neon sign outside. Laminated menus on each table featured a short list of the usual sort of things you could find to eat in a bar, from wings and nachos to a couple of different sandwiches. Another menu listed the specialty drinks of the house, and even a wine list. Dean chucked it back on the table with a snort. ”What kind of roadhouse has a fucking wine list?”

“This kind, apparently,” Cas replied, picking up the menu to examine it more closely.

Dean shrugged and Sam went on. “As far as I can tell, almost every other unexplained thing in this town lasted three days, then disappeared again.”

Dean glanced around again. “You think this place has got a ticking clock on it, then? And three days is somehow the lifespan of the spooky around here?”

Sam shrugged. “It fits the pattern. Mostly.”

Cas chimed in with, “But if that pattern holds, then all of these random occurrences must have a common source.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem. How do we trace everything back to that source.” Sam put the tablet down and took a gulp of his beer.

“We talk to people.” Dean replied with a raised eyebrow, before slouching back in his chair. “Cas just said we’d need to talk to the owner. He has to have some idea about how he went to bed as Joe Buck and woke up as Rick Blaine.”

Cas glanced over at him and smirked over the top of his beer bottle. Not only had Dean taken his suggestion on how to proceed with the case seriously, but Cas had also picked up on both movie references.

Dean grinned back at him. Hell, Cas’s little smirk alone would’ve warmed his heart. For the first time in a long time, Dean dismissed his first instinct to blame the tingling feeling blooming in his chest on the alcohol and just let himself feel good about something for once. It had been weeks since he’d worried about anything triggering the Mark again and he was finally starting to accept that it was well and truly gone for good.

When the realization struck him, he smiled wider and reached under the table to pat Cas’s knee where it kept bumping against his own as they were jostled by people squeezing through the narrow space between the tables behind them. Cas’s smirk softened into an understanding smile and Dean let his hand slide away, reaching instead for the food menu. He might not be having traumatic flashbacks anymore, but he’d already pressed too much advantage for one evening when it came to his boundaries with Cas.

Despite how close they’d grown since returning to humanity, there was still an awkwardly gaping chasm between them, and Dean had long ago decided that he’d wait for Cas to walk the tightrope over to his side rather than venture out on it himself and risk falling and smashing himself to pieces on the rocks below. In the meantime, he’d have to content himself with stolen little moments like a friendly pat on the knee.

Sam ignored the both of them. It wasn’t worth trying to decipher their bizarre secret language when they had a bar owner to track down. He scanned along the bar and then let his gaze meander through the crowd until it settled on a tall, skinny man with a slicked-back ponytail. He looked a lot better than he did in the picture from the article Sam just read, but it was definitely the same guy.

“Dude, that’s him. At your seven o’clock.”

Dean stood up to ostensibly scoot around the table to read Sam’s iPad over his shoulder and snuck a glance at the owner. “Glad to see he discovered shampoo,” he said, looking back and forth between the picture on the tablet and the real thing. “He could’ve pulled off a passable Snape whenever that picture was taken.”

“It was his high school yearbook picture. And it was taken three years ago according to this,” Sam replied.

“Well two points for puberty, then.” Dean replied, shuffling his way back to his seat next to Cas.

Cas leaned over the table and asked in as hushed a voice as the loud music would allow, “Should we wait until the bar is closed to question him?”

Sam shook his head and pointed with his bottle. “Nah, looks like he’s making the rounds. He’ll get here eventually.”

Ten minutes later, the owner finally made it to their table. He introduced himself as Buddy Fleck and asked them if everything was to their satisfaction, as if he were the maitre’d in a fine dining establishment. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and what appeared to be tuxedo pants, but he’d left off the rest of the suit. It was hard to picture him pulling off the bow tie without looking like he was running late to pick up his date for the prom.

“So far, so good,” Cas replied, raising his nearly empty bottle in a toast.

Dean had also been helping Cas develop his alcohol tolerance. As an angel, Cas might’ve been able to drink a whole liquor store, but as a human he’d nodded off after his first two beers.

Their first lesson in drinking had been a tequila-fueled disaster that may or may not have included an episode of streaking around the bunker. Dean’s memory of that night was still a little foggy, but he and Cas both recalled the hangover the next day all too well.

In their line of work, it was essential to be able to have a drink or two and remain coherent and alert enough not to let their guard down. Dean was exceedingly pleased that even after downing a full beer, Cas was holding his shit together.

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do for you fellows.” Buddy patted Sam’s shoulder and leaned in closer. “It’s my job to make sure my customers are happy.”

“You the owner?” Dean asked.

“Yes, indeed,” Buddy said, standing up straight again. “Just opened, and it's already the most popular bar in town.”

“That’s impressive,” Sam replied. “We’re just passing through, but saw the crowd and figured we had to check it out. So how long have you been open?”

Buddy grinned proudly. “This is only our third night. I can hardly believe it myself.”

“It’s pretty remarkable,” Cas added.“Do you mind sharing the secret of your success with a few curious travelers?”

Buddy was speechless for a minute, like deer-in-the-headlights speechless, but he recovered himself enough to mutter out a cryptic, “It’s all about who you know.”

Dean put on his drunk-and-gullible grin he usually saved for pool hustling. “You think we could get an introduction then?”

Buddy laughed nervously, but after evaluating Dean, then Cas, and then Sam, and the three customers’ earnest and eager puppy-dog eyes, he nodded. “Sure. Stick around after closing tonight and I’ll introduce you to my silent partner.” With that, he was off and mingling with the people at the next table.

The three hunters exchanged nervous glances and Sam flicked a finger across his darkened iPad screen to check the time. They still had nearly two hours until last call. Sam excused himself to order another round of drinks and something to snack on while they killed time.


	3. Chapter 3

An hour and a half, two more beers apiece, and a plate of nachos later, One Wish was emptying out like it had been raided by the police. One minute it had been the place to be and the next it felt nearly deserted. That was strange enough, but it seemed even the staff were making themselves scarce. Dean hadn’t seen the overly-friendly bartender in at least twenty minutes, which was kind of a relief. When her advances weren’t getting anywhere with Dean she’d redirected her attentions toward Cas, who’d followed Dean up to the bar each time he’d ordered another round of drinks. She’d seemed friendly enough, but it bothered Dean more than he felt it should’ve that he’d twice had to nudge Cas and remind him they were working. The second time it happened, Cas turned to him with a rather severe look and Dean felt like five pounds of hot coal had dropped into his stomach. He reluctantly backed off, taking his and Sam’s drinks back to their table and spending the next few minutes pointedly not looking over at the bar, and definitely not sulking, until Cas returned. It didn’t help his mood much when Cas placed a napkin on the table with the name Deirdre and a phone number scrawled across it.

Dean grumbled out, “She want you to give her a call after work tonight?”

Cas squinted over at him, genuinely confused. “She was telling me about Ed Harrison, the older gentleman we planned to interview tomorrow. She’s his granddaughter.”

Dean had been hunched over his drink scowling at the napkin, but he suddenly sat back and stared at Cas. “Well, I’ll be damned. You were working after all.”

“Yes,” Cas growled back. “And it would’ve been an easier job if you didn’t keep interrupting me.”

“I thought she was just flirting with you. How was I supposed to know who she was?”

“You could’ve talked to her, like I did. She did try to talk with you before she spoke with me.”

Dean had absolutely no plausible defense ready for that one so he spit out the first excuse that came to mind. “But we’re supposed to be working, not chatting up random women in bars!”

Sam snorted and Dean turned to him with a glare.

“You got somethin’ to say, Sammy?”

Sam shook his head, but answered anyway. “Since when has the job ever stopped you from chatting up random women?”

“Since…” Dean floundered around for an answer that wouldn’t be a complete lie, or wouldn’t lead to a lot of uncomfortable questions he wasn’t sure he had any good answers for. He turned from Sam’s solemnly inquisitive face and focused on Cas, pleading with his eyes for Cas to help him out. “Since I’m trying to set a good example for Cas.”

He must’ve still been ticked off about the interruptions, because Cas just stared back at him, mouth slightly open like he couldn’t believe Dean was involving him in whatever lame excuse he was making. “I’ve known you for years, Dean. You’ve never tried to _set an example_ such as this before.”

Dean had finally convinced Cas to stop doing the finger quotes, but he could still _hear_ the finger quotes.

Sam interrupted before their stare-off devolved into outright glaring at each other. He cleared his throat and asked, “So what did she have to say?”

Cas reiterated his side of the silent argument with Dean with one last squint-- which Dean interpreted as _we are not done discussing your insistence on using my humanity as an excuse for your aberrant behavior_ \-- before handing the napkin to Sam and explaining what Deirdre had told him about her grandfather.

“Mr. Harrison, uh, Ed and his wife, Millie, walk from their home, through the park, and to the same cafe every afternoon for coffee. Several weeks ago they’d been celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary, lingering in the park under the mysterious oak tree. The next morning the tree had vanished and Millie woke up fifty years younger. Apparently they’d joked about carving their initials into the tree like they’d done the day they got married, which turned into a discussion about whether or not their twenty-year-old selves would still find the other attractive today. Millie swore she’d still love Ed just as much even if she looked like a supermodel.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a quick glance before Sam asked, “So, what, they think the tree had something to do with her… temporary de-ageing?”

Cas shrugged. “They didn’t have a better explanation for it.”

Dean asked, “And they didn’t totally freak out? I mean, when I got shoved back into my fourteen-year-old self last year, it wasn’t exactly a picnic. Fucking witches.”

Cas gave Dean a moment to grind his teeth and shake off the memory, and then answered. “They were concerned, but Millie had been correct in her assessment that she would adore Ed as much in her young body as she did in her old body. It truly didn’t matter to them.”

“Huh,” Sam said. “Guess it must’ve been a shock when she aged back to her normal self overnight, then.”

“Millie was mostly disappointed that her sciatica returned.” Cas unconsciously arched his back, stretching his own aching spine in sympathy after being awkwardly squished up half asleep in the back seat of the Impala most of the day. He still wasn’t used to the average daily aches and pains his body let him feel fully now.

Dean snorted and patted Cas on the shoulder. “Well, good job, man. You saved us a trip to the Harrison’s place tomorrow.”

Cas just beamed at him, stiff back all but forgotten, and went back to drinking his beer. Dean relaxed into his seat now that his ill temper had passed. It wasn’t long after that the mass exodus from One Wish began in earnest. Even Buddy was nowhere to be seen, which was definitely notable after he’d spent most of the evening circulating through the crowd.

They gave it a few more minutes, but when the music suddenly went quiet, Dean, Sam, and Cas realized they were the only people left in the main bar area. By silent agreement, they headed toward the kitchen, where they hoped to find Buddy.

Dean resisted the itch to draw a weapon yet, but his hand was ready to reach for his knife should the situation go sideways. They just wanted to talk to the guy, after all. This was not the kind of conversation that should require a weapons discharge.

Sam pushed the swinging door open into a gleaming and immaculate kitchen. There was no sign that anything had been cooked or served all night, which should’ve been impossible. By all reasonable logic, the kitchen should’ve been crowded with staff eager to finish cleaning up after the busy night. There were no dirty dishes stacked in the sink, no pots or pans in need of washing, and nothing in the trash can. Every surface was scrubbed clean, and whoever had been preparing the food had also cleared out.

They heard the clickety-clack of someone typing coming from behind a closed door off to their left and exchanged a series of looks and nods before Sam headed over and knocked twice.

“Yeah, come in,” a tired voice instructed.

Sam pushed the door open a bit, enough to see Buddy sitting at a small desk neatly stacked with the evening’s receipts, typing away on a laptop. “Hey, man, sorry to interrupt, but we were just wondering if you had time for that introduction you promised earlier.”

Buddy looked confused for a minute before a flash of recognition and subsequent wariness settled over him. “Oh yeah, the out of towners.” His eyes darted nervously over to a shelf on the other side of the room before refocusing on Sam. “It seems my partner’s gone extra-silent tonight. She, uh, left. I think. Or she’s not here anymore. Either way, I don’t know what to tell you.” He chuckled uncomfortably and his eyes flashed back to the same empty shelf before flitting erratically between Sam, Dean, and Cas, who had all pushed their way into the cramped office.

“Is everything okay?” Cas asked. “You seem distressed.”

Buddy sighed and shook his head, typed something into his laptop, and then turned it around for them to see.

“This… or she, I guess, was my silent partner. At least, I’m pretty sure it was her.”

Sam leaned over the desk to see the screen while Dean and Cas hung back a bit. Computer stuff was better left to Sam in most cases, and Buddy already seemed unnerved enough without all three of them looming over his tiny desk.

Sam scrolled down the page, scanning the longish article as quickly as he could. While he read, he cast a few disbelieving glances at Buddy. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with your business?”

Buddy shifted nervously in his chair, the leather of the seat making rude noises as its occupant did his best to retain what little credibility he could cling to. “She’s responsible for this whole thing, if you can believe that. Or whoever gave her to me is.”

Sam just stood and stared at him for a second before Dean broke the silence. “What? Who was it?”

Sam glanced back over his shoulder at his brother, half a smile forming on his face. “Rhiannon.”

Cas’s eyes went wide, and a look of confusion passed over Dean’s face as he blurted out, “The chick from the Stevie Nicks song?”

Cas was actually the one to answer. “In essence, yes. But I believe Buddy here was referring specifically to the Welsh deity, often theorized to be the same entity as the Celtic deity Epona, since both are known for their affinity with horses.”

Buddy nodded, picked up his phone, and scrolled through his photo gallery until he found what he was looking for. He passed the phone to Sam, who studied the image before handing it over to Cas. Dean again took advantage of the situation and leaned over Cas’s shoulder to get a better look at the tiny screen. It wasn’t his fault Buddy’s office was so small that he could barely squeeze past Cas, nor that the picture was really difficult to see clearly on a four inch screen. It was probably a little bit his fault when he rested one hand across Cas’s back to steady himself as he craned his neck over Cas’s shoulder to see the picture for himself. Cas didn’t seem to mind and simply held the phone a little higher so they could both see more easily.

The picture showed the shelf along the back wall of the office that had been distracting Buddy since they first arrived; only in the picture, the shelf wasn’t empty. In the picture the small wooden shelf held what looked like an ancient bronze statue of a woman riding a horse, one hand clutching its mane and the other raised over her head as if she were leading an army into battle.

Dean glanced up at the shelf, bolted to the wall with two filigree iron brackets that vaguely resembled birds in flight, then back at the picture. The statue couldn’t have been more than about eight inches tall, but it was incredibly detailed, from the folds in the woman’s dress where it draped over her legs to the wild look in the horse’s eyes. For how much life it held, it could’ve been a photograph of an actual woman and horse put through one of those hipster sepia tone filters to give it a bronze patina.

Cas leaned in even closer to Dean’s ear and spoke more quietly, as if he intended for only Dean to hear. Given the cramped quarters, there was no way anyone in the room could’ve missed what he said next anyway. “Rhiannon and Epona have both been depicted this way for millennia, riding a white horse.”

“Looks more like a brown horse to me,” Dean grumbled back.

Cas snorted softly, and if Dean hadn’t been looking at him from six inches away he’d have missed the slight rise in the corner of his mouth and the quick side-eye as Cas tried his best to remain composed and professional.

“That’s because it’s cast in bronze, Dean. Rhiannon’s horse was always white.” He said it with the kind of finality that Dean assumed meant Cas had firsthand evidence of exactly what Rhiannon’s horse had looked like.

It used to send a creepy chill down his spine every time Cas said something like that to remind him of just exactly who and what Castiel had been since the dawn of time. One minute Dean might be teasing him about some random matter of daily life that he still hadn’t mastered, and the next Cas would offhandedly bring up something he witnessed before creatures with lungs had evolved. It happened often enough now that they spent most of their time together that Dean was actually getting used to the feeling. Rather than a chill, it felt more like a shot of warmth nowadays.

Dean realized he was still staring when Cas broke eye contact to lean across the desk and return Buddy’s phone. Dean turned around in just enough time to catch the confused look on Buddy’s face, as if he felt left out of some silent conversation.

“What was that about?” Buddy asked, studying the picture that had rendered these two strangers speechless for nearly two minutes, looking for clues as to what he’d missed.

Dean ran one hand down his face and sighed before gesturing to Cas to pick up the story. Dean didn’t have the vaguest idea how the statue connected to their case, and there was no fucking way to explain what had actually passed between him and Cas to Buddy. Hell, Dean wasn’t even sure he could explain it to himself.

“For the purposes of this discussion, I will refer to her as Rhiannon rather than Epona, but that still doesn’t explain what’s going on here. This isn’t like her.”

Buddy sat up straighter. “What isn’t like who now? The goddess lady statue is an actual person?” He flailed one hand out toward the laptop screen. “But the article. It said she lived like a thousand years ago or some shit. What the fuck is going on here?”

Sam spoke up now, trying to calm the man down. “She’s a goddess. A thousand years doesn’t mean much to things that are effectively immortal.”

His words only served to freak Buddy out more. He slowly pushed himself backward in his wheely chair into the farthest corner of the office, putting as much distance between himself and the three overly-large and apparently insane people in his office. “So you think she’s _real_? Like, _actually alive and hanging around on the outskirts of Laramie, real_? And, what? Building bars for people?”

“As I said, this isn’t like her,” Cas replied easily, as if it was a given that everyone understood exactly what would’ve been in character for Rhiannon. He then grew thoughtful, brows crinkling together, and he could no longer meet Dean’s eyes as he spoke. “She’s not known for granting random wishes. She’s a warrior first and foremost. Then again, she defied an arranged marriage in order to marry for love. Perhaps having outlived her human family, she has simply grown restless and is seeking a new purpose? Readjusting to a new way of life can be difficult without family by your side.”

Dean felt Cas’s words like a punch to the stomach. Sure, Cas was kind of going through something similar now that he was human, but he’d thought Cas was adjusting pretty well, especially since it had been his choice to rip out his grace this time. It still didn’t sit easy with Dean, since he’d been the catalyst that drove Cas to make the choice in the first place. But Cas had been human once before and he knew exactly what he was signing himself up for this time around. At least this time, Dean swore not to abandon him like he’d done the first time. And that somehow hit him even harder.

Cas _was_ speaking from personal experience, of when he first fell and Dean kicked him out on the street to fend for himself, alone. Fuck, Dean didn’t want to think about that in the middle of a case, in front of a stranger who was already borderline ready to call the cops on them if they didn’t start making sense soon. But later, definitely later. It would probably keep him up half the night, lying alone in that huge empty bed waiting for him back at their motel.

Buddy’s voice climbed at least half an octave and he looked like he was about ready to scale the wall he’d driven his chair back against to put a few more feet between himself and the weirdos who’d invaded his office. “The fuck are you people on about?”

It was clearly time to bring this conversation back around to the here and now. Sam crouched near the end of the desk, making himself as small and non-threatening as possible-- like a freakishly large and understanding cocker spaniel-- and spoke in tones usually employed by hostage negotiators and golf announcers. “Can you tell us what happened? First off, where did you find that statue?”

Buddy, who’d been looking more and more like a cornered cat with every passing minute, finally shook himself and eased down in his chair a little bit. Sam was giving him the full-on trusting puppy eyes, and nobody had the power to resist that for long. He shot one last wary look at Cas, took a deep breath, and turned back to tell Sam his story.

“It was on my front steps when I got home from work Tuesday night. I haven’t got a fucking clue where it came from or who left it there, but it was blocking my door, so I picked it up and brought it inside.”

“And then what happened?”

“I, uh…” Buddy closed his eyes and tried to remember, head bobbing side to side as he relived that night in his mind. “Oh, I put it on the coffee table. I went and showered, then I crashed out on the couch for a few hours. When I woke up, there was a stack of paperwork tucked under the statue and a key ring hanging around the horse’s neck.” Buddy opened a drawer, pulled out a thick envelope, and handed it to Sam. “This is everything.”

Sam opened the envelope and pulled out the packet inside. The top page was the deed to One Wish. The next was the operating license, then the liquor license, vendor receipts, employee paperwork, and so on. It was essentially a bar owner’s starter kit-- everything you’d need to go into business.

“And you’d never applied for any of these permits or anything before?” Sam asked, as he scrutinized the documents like a real lawyer would.

Buddy shook his head. “I mean, it’s what I’ve always wanted, you know? I was grateful to have the job I had in this economy, but someday, man. This place is exactly what I would build for myself. It’s sort of my dream job, running my own restaurant and bar.”

Sam nodded and handed the papers back, standing up again. Dean was the one to question him next, because he just couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Sam might’ve been appeased by Buddy’s story, but it was starting to piss Dean right the hell off.

“And you didn’t question any of it? You just quit your job and dropped everything else in your life on a whim, and you don’t even wonder where those papers came from?”

Buddy just shrugged, a bit of the defensive cat returning to his posture, shoulders tensing and hands clamping down on the arms of his chair at Dean’s indignant tone. “When someone hands you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter, you take it. You don’t ask stupid questions.”

“You should at least read the fine print, you know?” Dean replied. “Someone breaks into your house to give you stuff, you probably wanna know who they are and what they want with you first. That’s how asshats end up selling their souls without even knowing it.” Dean trailed off grumbling under his breath about demons and angels and a few other choice tidbits from his own experience with unwanted gifts. He ended with something about watery tarts throwing swords, which Cas unfortunately overheard.

“Rhiannon is often acknowledged as the Lady of the Lake, who gave Excalibur to Arthur. So yes, it doesn’t seem too much of a stretch for her to have switched from lobbing scimitars to processing legal paperwork in this modern age.” Cas grinned at Dean, having demonstrated his mastery of Monty Python references. “She has been known to give double-edged gifts.”

Dean just rubbed his eyes with one hand and clapped Cas on the shoulder with the other. As unbelievable and infuriating as it was that so many people in this town would willingly accept such bizarre changes in their lives without even flinching, Cas deserved some sort of credit for picking up on the reference. Hell, he’d quoted the same movie back to Dean without blinking. Their lessons were paying off big time, because it cheered Dean enough to stave off the headache this case was giving him. “If you say so, Cas, but it still sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.”

He felt Cas’s shoulder rise and fall again under his hand. The longer he thought about it, the more he sympathized with Buddy. Poor bastard was still riding the high of having his biggest dream come true and he couldn’t see the inevitable consequences yet.

Yeah, Dean had been given a lot in his life, but everything that had come to him without a struggle had turned out to have very long strings attached to it. Even the bunker, the first real home they’d ever had, had come at the cost of setting Abaddon loose on the world again and their grandfather sacrificing himself so they could live.

Most recently, getting rid of the Mark had cost Cas his grace, but that meant that he was finally sticking around instead of flitting off every time he popped back into their lives. The price was so staggeringly high, though, that Dean rarely let himself really feel how selfishly happy it made him. Dean was human again, which was fantastic; but Cas had been the one to pay for it, which was almost more than he could bear.

Dean cleared his throat and finally dropped his hand from Cas’s shoulder. “Nothing comes for free, Buddy. You can take that to the bank. You might not see it yet, but the bill’s already been mailed, and it’s coming due.”

Buddy stared back at Dean for a second before his mouth pressed into a hard line and his eyes went glassy and far away. He nodded slowly and let out a long-held breath. “I kinda figured it was too good to be true when I came back here at closing time and the statue was gone. I’ve seen the weird shit going on around town this month and I know none of it has lasted, but damn. I’d been hoping this wasn’t gonna end any time soon.”

It was Sam’s turn to be incredulous. “So that’s it? You’re not upset that all of this will probably be gone by morning?”

Buddy shrugged and smiled just the tiniest bit. “Easy come, easy go, right? Plus, now I have that much more reason to fight to get it back. Now I know I can really do this. I was good at it, and I loved it. I won’t be sitting on my couch tomorrow night thinking this is all a pipe dream, losing a little bit more of my hope for the future every day I turn up to work for someone else. I’m gonna fight to get this back, harder than I ever would’ve before.”

Sam was impressed. Reluctantly, so was Dean.

Cas nodded his approval at Buddy’s attitude toward his impending loss. “That sounds more like the Rhiannon I know. She would inspire you and give you the knowledge you needed to succeed, but it would be up to you how you used those lessons. It seems you used your time in her care very wisely.”

Buddy smiled wider. “Well, then I hope I make her proud.”

Sam stretched his hand out to Buddy. “Thanks for talking with us. I’m glad you’re taking this so well, but a little advice. You might want to gather everything you brought in with you and get the hell out of here, man, because this place isn’t likely to hold together much longer.”

“Sam is probably right about that,” Cas added.

Buddy shook Sam’s extended hand, gathered up his laptop, the packet of paperwork, a thick bank bag filled with the night’s cash receipts, and the few assorted trinkets he’d brought in to adorn his desk and shoved them into a messenger bag. He picked up a potted fern resting atop his filing cabinet as he made his way to the door. “I can see the wisdom in that. Let’s get while there’s still someplace to get from.” He ushered them toward the door, keys in hand.

They followed Buddy through the kitchen, out into the bar, and toward the front door. Just as he was about to push it open, it vanished, along with the rest of the building and the set of keys he’d been holding.

“Well, that sort of puts a damper on the going out of business party,” Dean said, casting a forlorn look at the empty field that just seconds ago had housed a rather spectacular collection of whiskey. Ah, well. Easy come, easy go.

“It was fun while it lasted, but better things await.” Buddy walked to his car, the only vehicle other than the Impala left in the lot, and rested his bag on the hood, First he pulled out the now disappointingly empty bank bag, folded it back up with a slight slump in his posture, and shoved it back in his messenger bag. He dug out the envelope that held all the bar’s paperwork, but it was nearly empty now. The thick stack of papers was gone. Only two sheets remained. With shaking hands, he set them on the hood of the car side by side and then stepped back slowly.

Sam cast a worried look at Dean and Cas before heading over to make sure everything was still okay. Buddy saw him coming and looked up at Sam, gaping like a goldfish and pointing weakly at the papers. Sam stepped closer and bent over to read them.

The first was a handwritten letter, written in green flowing script. It praised Buddy for using his opportunity to his best advantage, for running such a successful business, and for not losing hope when he knew his time was running out. It said that he’d earned an additional reward, one that would not expire at the end of three days, and one that the writer hoped he’d put to excellent use.

Sam called over his shoulder, “It’s signed _Most sincerely and with every confidence, Rhiannon_. And holy shit, she gave him the land!”

He held up the second paper, which was the deed to the empty lot they were standing on, all officially registered and documented, Buddy’s name at the bottom of the page listed as owner.

“She coulda left the building,” Dean said. “Or at least the cash.”

Sam turned and glared at him, and Dean held up his hands and backed off.

Cas said, “It wouldn't have been in her nature to make anything too easy, Dean. She provides a foundation, but then demands an equal effort be put forth from the recipient.”

“I’m not complaining at all,” Buddy said, his calm words belied by a crack in his voice and the awe written plainly across his face. “Buying the land to build on was my biggest hurdle. Everything else is manageable now. I can do this.”

Sam smiled and clapped Buddy on the shoulder. “I guess you’re gonna be okay, then?”

Buddy positively beamed. “More than okay. Thanks. And if you guys are ever in Laramie again, you’ll know where to find me. Hopefully it won’t be too long before I’m back in business.”

Dean and Cas both shook hands with Buddy and wished him well. With nothing else to do, and not even the vestiges of a case to look into anymore, they decided to head back to the motel for the night. It had been a weird one, for sure. They watched Buddy drive off before settling into the Impala. Dean hesitated before starting her up, though. He turned in his seat so he could see both Sam beside him and Cas in the back seat.

“So, do we even have a case here anymore? I mean, it seems like this Rhiannon chick is helping people.” He furrowed his brow and then shook it off. “She does it in a really fucked up way, but at the end of the day it seems like no one’s getting hurt here. Should we even try to stop her?”

Sam shrugged. “It is strange, but what would we even do if we got our hands on the statue? Lock it up in a curse box? It doesn’t seem right. She’s not really doing any harm, at least.”

“Everyone we’ve spoken with so far has benefited from the gifts she’s given them,” Cas added. “Buddy has new hope for his future, and the Harrisons came away with a renewed appreciation for the strength of their love for each other. I would not object to letting her go about her business for now.”

Dean nodded, trying to focus on Cas where he faded into the shadows of the back seat now that the huge neon sign that had flooded the lot with light before had vanished along with the bar. “If she stops being friendly, we can always hunt her down. Yeah, for now, I vote we leave her alone. Everybody’s got to have a mission, and I can’t argue with her results.”

Cas hummed a contented little sound of agreement, and Sam nodded and said, “Back to the motel for the night then? We can head home in the morning and you two jerks can have as much vacation time as you want. Deal?”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, Sammy, it’s a deal.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot at about half past two in the morning. Considering they got the last available room and the last available parking spot, it was eerily quiet. Every window was dark, no one was milling about outside, and even the front desk looked deserted through the office windows.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected that late at night, but in a crowded motel, at the very least they should hear someone’s television on too loud, or see at least one or two lights on through the curtains. Pack sixty or seventy random people into a building, chances were at least one of them’s the type who needs to sleep with a light on in a strange place. For the entire motel to have gone dark and silent, especially so soon after watching Buddy’s bar vanish into thin air, was just unsettling enough to put them all on edge.

The three of them got out of the car, the slam of each of the three doors echoing like gunshots in the oppressive stillness. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and a silent understanding to be on alert before Dean circled around behind Cas. Shoulder to shoulder, they cautiously followed as Sam led the way up the stairs to their room.

Dean drew out the key when they reached their door, and the sound of it grinding into the lock could’ve been a buzz saw in the deserted hallway. He reached down for the knob with one hand while his other hand slid back under his jacket and rested on the gun tucked into his belt. As soon as his fingers touched the reassuring weight of the weapon, he felt silly.

“What the fuck,” he said, and flung the door open.

He groped around the wall inside the door and flipped the light switch, illuminating the front entryway in twenty watt splendor. It seemed unnaturally bright after creeping around in the dimly lit hallways, but still left most of the room in shadow. Whatever strange feeling that had put them all on edge dissipated as they stepped into the room and Cas shut the door behind them, as if all the missing lights and sounds rushed back into the world at once.

Someone was definitely watching tv in the next room, not loud enough to complain about but definitely loud enough to hear. The little fridge in their kitchenette clicked on and the cooling fan whirred. Somewhere outside, they could hear someone apparently on the phone as they paced up and down the length of the parking lot, voice getting louder and softer as they wandered closer and then farther away again.

“So…,” Sam started, as they all stared at each other wondering what the hell just happened. “Did that seem strange to anyone else, or do I just need a good night’s sleep?”

Dean and Cas exchanged a look, each of them wondering if it was worth worrying about. Dean shrugged. “That wasn’t normal, no.”

Cas agreed, but he tried to offer a plausible explanation. “Perhaps it was a leftover effect of being inside One Wish when it vanished? The spell breaking might’ve interfered with our perceptions.”

Dean grunted, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You think that’s possible?”

Cas smiled, and shook his head. “It’s not likely, no. But barring any other evidence that there is a second supernatural entity causing havoc in this neighborhood tonight, it’s probably safe to assume that Rhiannon or her influence was responsible for whatever that was.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair and turned to his duffel bag atop his bed. “Well, as long as physics is working properly again, I’m gonna take a shower and go to bed. If we’re gonna turn around and drive straight home in the morning, we should probably get an early start.”

“You do that, Sam. But we’re not leaving too early. Checkout’s not until eleven, so I’ll shower in the morning. Feel free to use up all the hot water. Cas?”

Cas had already moved over to his own bed and was pulling a pair of flannel pants and one of Dean’s old t-shirts out of his bag to dress for bed. He looked up at the sound of his name. “Yes, Dean?”

“You good with that?”

“I’ll be ready to do as you wish.” He smiled and stared back at Dean, who stood there a little like he’d been pinned in place.

“Uh, yeah. That’s good.”

Dean fidgeted and tried to smile back, shifting from one foot to the other, and resisted the urge to read more into Cas’s words. Of course Cas would be agreeable to whatever travel plan they’d make, but the way he’d said it made Dean wonder. Since rejoining humanity, Cas had been willing to do pretty much anything Dean had asked of him, whether it be marathoning Buffy or learning to make omelettes. There was so much more that Dean wished for. Every time Cas said something like that, though, he started to wonder if maybe Cas didn’t have some wishes of his own.

Sam dropped his duffel to the ground next to his bed, the thump breaking through their odd tension. Cas picked up his pajamas and his toothbrush and headed into the bathroom. “I'll be right out, Sam, and then, as Dean said, you can feel free to use up all the hot water.”

Dean just stood there for a minute staring at the bathroom door, until Sam spoke.

“You need the bathroom, too?”

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

Dean turned and shuffled off to his private room within their room to fetch his toothbrush, so he missed Sam’s smirk. By the time he’d changed and come out to brush his teeth, Cas was already curled up under the covers in bed. Dean stood and watched him for a second, just to make sure he was okay. There’d been no further weirdness with the sound or lights since they’d come inside, but it never hurt to make sure about these sorts of things. At least, that’s the excuse he’d tried to convince himself of for creeping on his friend while he was trying to sleep.

Blessedly, Sam said nothing and just shoved past Dean into the bathroom. Dean stood there for another minute or two, before whispering, “Night, Cas.”

The lump of blankets that was Castiel rumbled back, “Goodnight, Dean.”

He shuffled back into his own room and crawled into the vast king size bed. It had seemed like a good idea to claim it for himself that afternoon. Fun, even. But now, all alone and surrounded by what felt like acres of blankets, it just made him feel lonely.

It reminded him of what Cas had said back at Buddy’s, about adjusting to a new life without friends or family. How did he have the right to feel lonely when he had Cas and Sam out in the next room? They were no more than a shout away. He’d sent Cas out into the world alone, newly human and absolutely clueless about how to survive on his own without his mojo.

Dean tossed and turned for what seemed like forever, imagining every hellish scenario that Cas might’ve had to face alone because of him. He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that Cas had survived, he’d made a life for himself for at least a little while. But there had still been angels gunning for him, and he had no one to turn to for help. Dean had thrown him out. Dean had been unreliable.

Well, fuck that. Things were different now. Cas forgave him, and Dean swore that Cas would always have a home with them. Things were good now. At least, Dean thought they were pretty good. He did wish they had a little more time between hunts to let Cas enjoy being human for a bit, but he hadn’t even considered what Cas might want for himself.

Since he’d agreed to stay, Cas had let Dean run the show. Dean wanted to go for a drive, so they went for a drive. They watched what Dean wanted to watch on tv, and ate what Dean wanted to eat, and essentially lived on Dean’s schedule when they hadn’t been hunting. Cas had seemed content to go along with whatever Dean suggested, but maybe it was time for Dean to encourage him to make his own choices.

As much as it pained him to think about Cas choosing to explore the world on his own, he didn’t want the guy sticking around all the time out of obligation. If there was something he wanted to do for himself, Dean would encourage him to do it, because that’s what family was for. He bit back on the rush of panic he felt at the mere thought of asking Cas about all of this, but he knew he’d have to bring it up soon. Sam had agreed to let them have some time off before finding another hunt. Some time in the next few days he’d certainly work up the nerve to ask Cas what he really wanted to do with himself now that he had a limited human lifespan in which to do it.

It took a while, but eventually the knot of dread in the pit of his stomach loosened and the endless loop of worry wore him down until there was nothing left to do but fall asleep.

***

Out in the other room, Cas was just as restless. Since talking with Buddy, he hadn’t stopped wondering what he, himself, would wish for if he had the chance. As an angel, he’d followed orders, until he didn’t anymore. Even then, he’d followed Dean’s orders, until he didn’t anymore. Every time he’d tried to veer off the script and make big decisions on his own, he’d invariably caused more harm than good. That was all in the past now, though. Dean and Sam had forgiven him and welcomed him into their home. The world was as right as they could make it, and he intended to live out his life in relative peace, barring the hunting.

He had almost everything he could’ve ever hoped for. Family and friendship, a real home, and a purpose. What more would he even ask for?

He rolled over and blinked out over the empty half of his bed, absently running one hand over the other pillow. He would never consider wishing for the one thing he knew he could never have. He would never put his own desires above anyone else’s-- especially Dean’s. Dean was his closest friend and that would just have to be good enough for him. No matter how much he might yearn for it, he couldn’t abide even three days of anything more if he knew that it had all been fake. Nor could he live with himself-- or with Dean’s anger at him-- afterward.

He curled his arm around the second pillow and drew it toward his chest. This was his life now, and he was content. He wasn’t sure if he was truly happy, but content was more than he ever expected, and he’d take it. He sighed into the spare pillow, nuzzling his face into the cool cotton, and eventually fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas was unwillingly pulled back toward consciousness as the early morning sun streamed through the window. He clung to the last vestiges of slumber, burrowing further down into his pillow to shield his eyes from the intrusive light. He sighed as he felt himself drifting off again and hoped to get another hour or two of sleep before they had to get up and head home. Except the pillow he had his arm wrapped around groaned and rolled away from him.

His eyes flew open and all he could see at first was the freckled expanse of Dean’s back, striped with the same inconvenient beam of sunlight that had woken him. Cas froze, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. Had he walked in his sleep? The last thing he remembered was drifting off in the other room.

He’d only had three drinks at Buddy’s bar, and that had been hours before he’d finally gone to bed. He definitely wasn’t too drunk to remember getting out of his bed and climbing into Dean’s. Dean had made sure Cas was well aware of his limits when it came to alcohol.

As he slowly disentangled himself from Dean and the warm blankets, he remembered his final thoughts before drifting off the night before. He tried to control his anger at the realization that this unscheduled trip to Dean’s bed may have been Rhiannon’s doing. He might wish for Dean to want him this way, but the idea that it would be forced upon his friend against his will was repulsive to Cas in every way.

There was only one thing to do, then. Cas eased his way to the edge of the bed as carefully as he could, without waking Dean. He slid out from under the covers and immediately realized that not only had he unwittingly violated Dean’s personal space, he’d apparently stripped naked before doing it.

He crouched down on the floor at the side of the bed, trying to hide himself in case Dean woke up. It was bad enough he was in Dean’s room uninvited, but he had absolutely no excuse for being in there completely unclothed. He knelt on the floor, bent low over the rug, taking deep, steadying breaths while trying to figure out what to do. And that’s when it hit him. The motel room he’d fallen asleep in had a worn and matted dull beige carpet throughout, including in Dean’s room. The carpet beneath his hands and knees now was soft and plush, and bright white with tiny flecks of green and blue that matched the brightly patterned bedspread and curtains.

For a second he forgot all about his state of undress as he took in the lavish room that was nothing like the one he remembered being in just hours earlier. That room had had a tiny headboard screwed to the wall above the bed, cheaply framed and faded poster prints of Monet’s water lilies, and lamps bolted to the nightstands. The room he was in now would fit better into Ken Lay’s luxurious heaven where he once had a meeting with Raphael than any rattrap motel the Winchesters had ever brought him to.

The bed he’d unceremoniously slithered out of was a hulking carved four poster, and the painting above the headboard was an actual gilt-framed oil painting instead of a knockoff print. It was so unsettling that he risked a peek over the edge of the bed to make sure that really was Dean lying asleep just a few feet from him. He’d never been more grateful that he’d once rebuilt Dean from atoms and would recognize every inch of him in any circumstance. The line of his shoulder, neck, and ear, and the sleep-mussed head of sandy hair was enough to convince Cas that, if Rhiannon was indeed messing with him, at least he wasn’t alone.

Dean would need to know what had happened, but Cas wisely decided not to wake him until he found his clothes. He wasn’t sure if it would be worse for Dean to awaken and find him walking around the room naked or crawling around on the floor naked, but since he was already down there he decided to creep toward the foot of the bed. At least if he remained partially hidden he might have a chance to explain himself before Dean was confronted with the full extent of their awkward situation. It would probably lessen the shock factor, considering Dean’s usual approach to Cas in any state of undress. He’d had a small panic attack when Cas had shown up covered in nothing but bees that one time, but in retrospect that may have had more to do with the bees than his lack of clothing. There had been an awful lot of bees.

Cas shook off the memory to wonder about some other time and scanned the immediate area in search of his pajamas. The only things he could see from his vantage point near the floor were the nightstand and a lounge chair along his side of the bed and a large ornate armoire that matched the nightstands and bed frame on the opposite side of the room. He was not pleased about it, but he’d have to crawl out into the open part of the room to continue his search.

He peeked around the foot of the bed and saw an assortment of clothing scattered around the rest of the floor between the door and the bed. Unfortunately none of the items were his pajama pants or the t-shirt he’d worn to bed. He inched forward until he could reach the pair of jeans lying closest to his hiding spot. He gently pulled the jeans toward himself, until the belt buckle snagged against the rug and then clanged like a tinny bell as he yanked it free. Above him in bed, Dean snorted and grumbled, but went quiet again a few seconds later. Cas sighed in relief and silenced the clanking buckle with his hand.

On closer inspection, the jeans were definitely not his. He also didn’t think they were Dean’s. They were much too new and stiff. All of their clothes were well worn and soft from repeated washing. Even Cas’s newer clothes were often just Dean’s old clothes. And he was sure he’d never seen the belt before, either.

There was a wallet in the back pocket, though. Cas pulled it out and opened it, hoping it contained some hint as to what was going on and whose hotel room they’d inadvertently invaded. He saw the driver’s license inside, but it made no sense. The picture on the license was of his own face, but it was issued in Vancouver, Canada, and listed his name as Misha Collins. Everything else in the wallet had that strange name printed on it too. Dean had never made him a fake ID under the name Misha Collins, but this was more than just a fake ID. It was an entire fake life history wrapped in a neat leather envelope.

Dean stirred again, this time rolling over and breathing deeply as if he was about to wake up. Cas decided there was no more time to wonder where the mysterious pants came from. In the big scheme of things, it really was the least of his current concerns. If his face was on the ID in the pocket, it was safe to assume he was allowed to wear the pants. Accidentally wearing strange pants during an emergency situation would be far easier to explain than the rest of it, so he tugged them on as quickly and quietly as he could.

There were several shirts scattered about the floor in various stages of rumpledness-- two dark t-shirts, a dark blue plaid buttondown shirt, a pink buttondown, and a dark blue sweater. He was hesitant to wear any of the unfamiliar clothes. At least the pants had his picture in them, so he felt morally justified in wearing them somehow; but the shirts were disconcertingly and unhelpfully unlabeled.

Now that he was at least partially clothed, Cas debated slipping out the door and hoping that the rest of their motel room was still there, unchanged from the previous night. He could retrieve his duffel bag and his spare change of clothes. Also, Sam might still be there, asleep in the other bed, completely unaware that anything strange had happened during the night. If he was lucky, neither Sam nor Dean would ever learn how he’d woken up that morning.

He took one glance back at Dean, now rolled over so that the sun shone on his face and shoulder. Cas spent a few seconds admiring the golden tint the early morning light lent his skin and hair before opening the door as quietly as he could and slipping through into the other room.

He didn’t even have a chance to fully turn around before he realized it wasn’t just Dean’s room that had been altered overnight. The room he and Sam had fallen asleep in was gone. In its place was a living room decorated to match Dean’s room, with several other doors leading to who knows where. There were no beds, no kitchenette, and no rattling refrigerator fan. Cas had never before longed for a dingy, fluorescent-lit motel sink alcove, but he did then. Because most important of all, in whatever strange world he’d woken up, there was also no Sam. He couldn’t put it off any longer. Dean needed to know what was going on.

Cas considered knocking on the door to Dean’s room and pretending he hadn’t just snuck out, but reconsidered. In case they weren’t alone in whatever unfamiliar place Rhiannon must’ve sent them to, it would be safest to have Dean up to speed and by his side before he encountered anyone else. As far as he knew, Dean was his only ally now. Anyone else he might’ve alerted with his knocking could be an enemy. He slipped back inside and shut the door with a soft click. It was barely audible, but Dean had been close enough to waking on his own that the sound drew his attention, and he half sat up in bed, squinting and blinking at Cas through the sunlight.

“Cas? What’re’ya doin’in here?” Dean leaned up on one elbow, yawning and rubbing his eyes before refocusing on Cas, still standing with one hand on the doorknob, wearing nothing but his pilfered jeans.

Cas knew the second Dean realized something was wrong. He’d looked surprised to see Cas in his room, but the sleepy teasing smirk gave way to a more serious concern as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings and went into full hunter alert mode.

Cas took a deep breath, let go of the doorknob, and reached into his back pocket for the wallet. He tossed it to Dean before walking to the foot of the bed. “If I had to guess, I’d say that Rhiannon is responsible for this.”

Dean opened the wallet and studied its contents, glancing several times between the license and Cas. “Misha?” Dean blanched, and then looked a little sick. He rubbed his face and muttered, “Oh no. No no no.”

Cas became alarmed at Dean’s sudden incoherence. He dashed to Dean’s side of the bed, but was at a loss as to what he could do to help. “What’s wrong, Dean? Is this a sign? Do you know what’s going on here?”

Dean shook his head, but didn’t look up from the license. “Actors, man. We’re actors. Fucking Rhiannon threw us back into the goddamn world where we’re actors.” His voice grew louder and louder until he practically shouted, “Son of a bitch.”

“Actors? What do you mean?”

Dean started to climb out of bed, but then suddenly stopped, bright pink blooming across his face and neck. “Uh, Cas? Would you mind handing me my pants? I, uh, seem to sleep naked in this universe.”

Cas could feel his own cheeks heating up, and stuttered out an unintentional confession while he stumbled over to retrieve the other pair of jeans. “Apparently I do as well. I hope this Misha doesn’t mind that I’ve commandeered his pants. I thought it better to wear something than nothing.” With his back turned to Dean, he shoved his hands in the pockets to adjust the rather snug denim. “They chafe terribly. If I have to wear them much longer, I would like to borrow some underpants, as well.”

Dean’s gaze snapped up to Cas just as he bent over to pick up the other pair of pants from the floor. He couldn’t help but stare at Cas’s ass in his stolen jeans. For a brief moment, Dean didn’t care if they chafed, he was just grateful that _Misha_ didn’t apparently care that they chafed. It had been bad enough just watching the play of muscles across Cas’s back and shoulders, let alone everything he had going on in front. When Cas stood up and turned around, Dean realized he’d been staring open-mouthed and scrambled to make sure the thick quilt was arranged to best hide the fact that Little Dean had taken an interest in the unfolding events. He hastily reminded himself that this was no time to deal with his unresolved feelings for Cas, no matter how attractive his ass looked in a pair of skinny jeans. There’d be time for a cold shower later, but there were more urgent things to attend to first. Like what the hell they were doing back in Balthazar’s demented alternate universe.

He cleared his throat and said, “How much you wanna bet those pants belong to Jensen Ackles?”

Cas furrowed his brow as he held the jeans out to Dean, and asked, “Who is Jensen Ackles, and why do you believe these are his pants?”

Dean groaned, and reached for the pants, fishing the wallet out as he talked. “You remember when Balthazar sent us off on that wild goose chase with the fake key to Heaven’s Holy Arsenal while you were busy playing hide and go seek with Raphael?”

Cas nodded, his forehead scrunching up a little at the reminder of everything he’d been hiding from Dean back then. Dean pretended not to notice Cas’s discomfort, because if they really were stuck in an alternate universe, he needed the facts, as uncomfortable as they might be. There’d be time for apologies and forgiveness later when they were safely back in the real world. Dean went on to tell him the whole story, only pulling up short when he got to the part where Misha had been kidnapped by Virgil.

Cas cut him off with a gasp. “Virgil _murdered_ Misha?”

Dean nodded contritely.

“But, if that’s true, how can I possibly be here wearing a dead man’s pants? If Misha is no longer alive in this universe, and hasn’t been for years, then why did I find a current driver’s license on your bedroom floor?”

Cas’s distressed outburst brought Dean up short once again. He sputtered for just a second before sitting up straighter and narrowing his eyes at Cas. “What do you mean, on my bedroom floor?”

Cas forgot what he’d been worried about and realized what he’d just admitted. There was no backing down again. He had to confess. “I woke up next to you in bed, found Misha’s pants, and tried to piece together what has happened here.”

“You.” Dean swallowed hard and hoped his voice wouldn’t crack under the strain. “You woke up in bed? With me? Here?” He glanced down at the covers over his lap, and then back up at Cas, who nodded, blushing just a little bit.

“I thought you were my pillow until you attempted to roll away. I apologize for any liberties I may have taken before I realized you were _not_ in fact my pillow.”

“Liberties?” Dean asked, voice skittering slightly higher than he cared to admit to himself.

Cas nodded again, balling his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “I believe I gripped you around the waist and… may have rubbed my face against your back. Again, my apologies.”

Dean nodded absently, appallingly aware of Little Dean’s renewed interest in that morning’s activities. Luckily Cas brought him back around to their present predicament before things got entirely out of hand.

“More important than why Rhiannon would have us awaken… in such a way, is the fact that when I went out to the other room to search for my own clothes, it became apparent that this room is not the only thing that’s been altered. I’m starting to consider the possibility that she has created a new alternate universe based on the one Balthazar sent you to before. This may still be a separate yet very real universe all on its own though.”

Cas swallowed hard and bit back the feeling of guilt at learning that he was even indirectly responsible for the death of yet another person, especially one who represented his vessel in another universe. He forced himself to let it go for now and worked through the rest of his thought.

“If this is a real universe, then Sam may be waking up to a very confused Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah, or he may be waking up with a Ruby clone.”

“Ruby? The _demon_?” Cas’s eyes went wide, and he finally gave up and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Dean nodded and drew his legs up so Cas would have room to sit. “Yeah, in that universe, Sam-- or whatever his name was-- was married to the actress who played Ruby. It was fucking creepy, man. They had an _alpaca_ in their yard, of all the bullshit things.”

Cas narrowed his eyes almost accusingly. “But she was _not_ Ruby.”

“Nah, man. Just looked like her. She seemed okay, though. She was really torn up about Misha’s death. Oh, and that universe had no magic. No ghosts, no demons, no angels, no hunters. Nothing. If Raphael hadn’t pulled us back through the window, we’d probably still be stuck there.”

Cas sighed and rubbed at his eyes in a gesture that Dean recognized as something the angel must’ve picked up from watching him. “I would have found you eventually, Dean. I would never abandon you.”

“Same thing might be true here,” Dean admitted, trying not to read anything into Cas’s admission and steering the conversation right back to the facts at hand. “If so, we’re probably stuck until Rhiannon decides to pull us home again.”

“Then we should probably prepare to spend three days in whatever universe this is.” Cas glanced around until he spotted a clock on the nightstand. It read 7:24 am. A strange thought suddenly occurred to him, and it must’ve shown on his face.

“What?” Dean asked. “What is it?”

“You and Sam were talking in the car yesterday, about wanting to take time away from hunting for a while.”

“Yeah…” Dean didn’t yet see where this was going. “I thought you were asleep, man. Were you faking it?”

“That is currently unimportant, Dean. You wished to do normal human things instead.” Cas fidgeted, unable to add the unspoken _with me_ to the end of that sentence, and unsure if he could admit what he himself had been wishing for.

“Yeah? So?”

“Perhaps Rhiannon sensed that desire and granted your wish in her own way. Sending us to a world where there is nothing supernatural to intervene, at least for the three days we're trapped here.”

Dean nodded, finally getting it. “So you think she’s granted my wish?”

Cas nodded and answered without thinking first again. “And mine as well.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. He’d been afraid to wonder what Cas would wish for himself, but he figured he was about to find out anyway. His heart fluttered without permission, and felt like it was trying to flap its way up his throat and out his mouth. He tried to force it back down and asked the inevitable question. “Your wish?”

Cas smiled at him softly, reaching out to rest a hand reassuringly on Dean’s knee. “I thought for a long while last night about what I would wish for if given the opportunity. In the end, I realized my only wish was to remain by your side.” He realized how that sounded out loud and quickly added, “And Sam’s, of course.”

Dean blushed again. At this rate, he was going to give himself some sort of cardiac whiplash with how fast his blood seemed to rush between his face, his heart, and his traitorous dick. This was the lesser of the evils though, and he let himself feel the warmth behind his friend’s words. He couldn’t help smiling back at Cas until they were both grinning widely, practically on the verge of relieved laughter.

Right at that moment, a horrible screeching noise interrupted their relieved staring. The alarm clock had gone off, and Dean turned away to silence it.

“Wonder what that’s set for?” Dean asked, finally tossing Jensen’s wallet onto the bed and wriggling under the covers to slide himself into Jensen’s pants. “If Rhiannon wanted to send us on vacation, why the hell’d she set the alarm for 7:30 am?”

Cas absently picked up the discarded wallet and opened it, confirming that it did indeed belong to Jensen Ackles. On closer inspection though, something stood out to him, and he reached to retrieve Misha’s wallet again. He held both licenses side by side as Dean finally climbed out from beneath the covers. After zipping himself up, relieved that Jensen was averse to personal chafing issues, or at least owned this one pair of comfy jeans, he turned and saw the look of consternation on Cas’s face.

Cas handed him both licenses for his own inspection. “It seems we live at the same address.”

“Of course we do,” Dean replied, snatching them from Cas’s hand and then studying them for himself. “You live with me and Sammy at the bunker.”

“No, Dean. Misha and Jensen share an address as well. In Vancouver.”

“Well,” Dean said, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for why two grown men would share a home address. “We never saw Jensen’s house, but if it’s anything like Sam’s… or what’s his name’s, it’s a freaking mansion. Like, the size of the bunker, at least.” Dean handed the cards back to Cas to replace in their respective wallets. “Is that where we are, you think? Jensen and Misha’s house?”

Cas handed Jensen’s wallet back to Dean and didn’t bother reminding him that they’d awakened in bed together, naked, and what that implied about the nature of the relationship of their alternate-universe selves. It was not really of import.

“I don’t believe so, Dean. I think we are at some sort of hotel.” He pointed to the little sign on Dean’s nightstand with information on how to use the phone, how to reach the front desk, and how to order room service. He picked it up and read the name of the hotel. “According to this, we aren’t even in North America anymore.”

Dean grabbed it out of Cas’s hands and nearly choked. “We’re in fucking _Paris_? _Why are we in Paris_?” He sounded positively alarmed now.

Cas stretched out a hand and rested it comfortingly on Dean’s shoulder. “We will figure this out, Dean. And until we do, what do you say we make the best of it? I believe there is much in this city you will enjoy. And you didn’t even need to spend half a day on an airplane in order to visit.”

Dean nodded along, trying to let Cas’s calm reassurances ground him. He patted Cas’s hand where it rested on his shoulder and then gave it a squeeze. “You’re right, you’re right. If we’re stuck here, we might as well try to enjoy it.”

Dean stared down at the jumble of discarded shirts at his feet, picking up the pink one first. It was wrinkled beyond help and smelled faintly of wine and cigarettes. He picked up the rest of the shirts one by one, coming to the same conclusion about each of them. They were all too gross to put on, considering _someone else_ had been the one to sweat all over them. Come to think of it, the pants he was wearing were probably equally gross. Ew. He tossed the shirts onto the bed before going in search of fresh clothes in the armoire.

“No matter what else we do, I need a shower first.” Dean’s stomach chose that moment to make itself heard with a loud rumble. “And then breakfast.”

Cas smiled at Dean’s back as he rifled through the clothing in the armoire before joining him to search for something to wear. “I believe you’ll enjoy Parisian breakfasts, Dean.”

Dean hummed his agreement, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, socks, underwear, a grey t-shirt, and a red plaid buttondown shirt, which he was relieved to find. At least Jensen had some kind of decent taste in clothes. “As long as it’s not a bunch of froufrou crap, I’ll give it a try.” He headed toward the bathroom to shower and change, so he missed Cas’s wide grin.


	6. Chapter 6

Just before eight o’clock, Cas was sitting on the edge of the bed lacing up a pair of comfortable brown boots while Dean stood by the door already dressed and ready to go, rubbing at the rough stubble on his cheeks. As far as he was concerned, they were on vacation and it didn’t matter if his appearance wasn’t up to fake-FBI snuff. That, and it was bad enough wearing someone else’s underwear. He wasn’t about to go digging through a stranger’s toiletries looking for a razor on top of that.

He wasn’t in a hurry or anything, but it was safer to let Cas think so when he was caught staring. The outfit Cas chose from the drawers in Misha’s side of the armoire was just as distracting as the skinny jeans had been. These jeans were obviously more comfortable and worn in, paired with a blue and white striped dress shirt currently stretched tight across the muscles of Cas’s shoulders and back as he bent to tie his boots. Dean was having difficulty forgetting that he’d spent the last hour or so hanging out in bed with shirtless Cas, let alone the fact they’d apparently been curled up naked together for who knows how long before that. It was all too much to think about when an uncertain reality lurked just outside their door.

Cas finished with his boots and stood up, holding his hands out to his sides for Dean’s inspection. Dean shook away his thoughts about just how good Cas looked in his borrowed clothes, his hair as messy from toweling it roughly dry as usual. He’d also foregone shaving in an attempt to speed them out the door in search of breakfast, which left Dean struggling to resist the odd desire to brush his knuckles down Cas’s bristly cheek just to see if his peach fuzz was as soft as he’d remembered it being that one time in Purgatory. Instead, Dean smiled and nodded weakly, giving his friend a half-hearted thumbs up.

Cas was halfway to the door and Dean was just about to open it when someone pounded hard on the other side. They quickly glanced at one another and both reflexively took a few steps back and to the side. It made Dean smile proudly, that Cas had reacted so quickly and without thinking. His hunter instincts had really come a long way. Just a few months ago he’d have stood smack in the middle of the doorway with every intention of smiting the door rather than getting the hell out of the way of whatever might be on the other side. Whoever or whatever was out there pounded again.

“You guys better be up in there.”

Dean and Cas stared wide-eyed at each other from their respective sides of the door. Cas pointed at the space between them and mouthed _Sam?_ Dean nodded, then frowned and shook his head, then just shrugged. What reason would Sam have for thinking they’d be asleep together in a strange hotel room?

Possibly-Sam banged again. “And you better be fucking decent, too. Breakfast is here, and we have to be downstairs in an hour for the first panel.”

Cas and Dean stood there, equally alarmed, because it sounded exactly like Sam’s voice, but that was definitely not Sammy. Whoever it was grew more impatient by the second-- while they silently debated what to do with a mixture of hand gestures, facial expressions, and mouthed words-- and banged again.

“Jensen. Misha. You have thirty seconds to get your asses out here, or I’m sending Gen in to get you.”

Dean cleared his throat and made a snap decision. He took the two steps necessary to stand at Cas’s side and muttered, “We don’t have a choice here, so I’m just gonna hope that we don’t scare the shit out of this guy, but we’re not gonna survive whatever the hell a panel is without some help. Do you trust me?”

Cas stared intently back at Dean, and nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Then here goes nothin’.” And he opened the door.

“Fucking finally,” fake-Sam said, raising his arms up and trudging off to a dining table set up across the room, laid out with platters of breads, pastries, and fruit, as well as coffee and juice. “I thought this was gonna be like Italy all over again.”

Dean took Cas by the elbow, drawing him along at his side as he made his way toward the coffee pot. He’d need the coffee to survive this conversation, but he also wanted to keep Cas close. For moral support. Or whatever. He needed to keep Cas close.

“Italy?” Dean asked, trying to find a way to ease not-Sam into the reality of their situation.

Not-Sam whipped his head around, slightly miffed, and looked unsettlingly like Actual Sam in a fit of pique. “Yeah, Italy. Where the two of you fucked off to who-knows-where for two hours and nobody could find you? They had to reschedule your autograph session? Ringing any bells?”

With one last reassuring glance back at Cas, which wasn’t as reassuring as he’d hoped because Cas still looked as freaked out as he felt, he answered. “Yeah, not so much.”

Not-Sam sat down at the table, picking a few sweet pastries off one platter, glaring back at Dean. “You don’t remember last Saturday? How much did you guys drink last night anyway?”

Cas piped up now, with, “I only had three beers.”

Dean glared back at him with _shut up and let me handle this you are not helping_ written all over his face. Cas simply shrugged, took a seat at the table, and reached for the coffee pot.

Dean hesitated for a second before sitting down next to Cas and picking up another mug. Cas filled both their mugs with coffee before setting the pot back down and selecting a pastry for himself.

Dean took a fortifying sip from his mug and then sat back to compound this innocent Sam-impostor’s already grouchy mood. This was the unfortunate moment his brain selected to remind him that the two actors who played him and his brother hadn’t really gotten along in their own universe. It didn’t make his task any easier, but procrastinating would probably make it even worse. It was a rip-the-bandaid-off sort of move, but there really was no good way to go about this. Dean gave his forehead a good vigorous rub and sat back to study how this stranger wearing his brother’s face would react.

“I remember last Saturday just fine, thanks. We finished up a hunt outside Minneapolis and were headed home before my idiot brother found another ghost to chase around rural Iowa for a couple days.”

“The ghost was in Minneapolis.” Cas said, between bites of what looked like an apple turnover. “Iowa turned out to be a ghoul.”

Dean glanced at him and grinned. Cas smiled back encouragingly and continued eating like this conversation was entirely normal. “Yeah, what he said. But we were definitely in Iowa. I’ve never been to Italy.”

“Not funny, guys,” not-Sam said, glancing back and forth between Dean and Cas, waiting for one of them to crack and end what he must've thought was another stupid prank. “What the hell are you playing at? You two work up some gag to do this convention as Cas and Dean, or something? Because this isn’t funny.”

Dean had frozen at the mention of the word _convention_. He vividly remembered the Supernatural Convention that Becky Rosen had organized back during the apocalypse. Oh hell, no. He didn’t want to relive that experience, with all the attendees pretending to be him and Sammy-- and Cas, now, he supposed. “Convention? What the fuck? They have those here, too?” Dean leaned his head down gently on the edge of the table and took a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah, Jensen. Conventions. We do like twelve of them a year. Stop dicking around and just promise me you won’t disappear again this weekend.”

Cas hesitantly put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, hoping Dean would sit up and explain to him why the mere mention of the word convention would drive him to such distress. When Dean didn’t seem to improve right away, Cas turned to the Sam impostor, squinting menacingly at him for upsetting Dean. “It might help you to understand that this is not Jensen,” he said.

Dean patted Cas’s knee under the table to let him know he’d be okay. He sat back up just in time to see not-Sam roll his eyes. “Probably also important you know this isn’t Misha,” he said, hooking a thumb at Cas.

“So, what, is this where I’m supposed to say I’m not Jared, and then we all have a laugh?”

Dean sat up straight, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Jared. “Jared! Hell, I couldn’t remember your name. Sorry about that. Still can’t get your last name right though. Pallecki or something, right?”

“You are so not funny right now, Jensen.”

“Yeah. Not Jensen,” Dean replied, sitting back in his seat. It finally occurred to him how he could prove who he and Cas were. Or at least, he hoped so. It was bad enough he’d have to refer to himself in the third person, let alone try to make Jared understand what was really happening here. Trying to talk about his life in terms of a fictional tv show wasn’t helping, either. “Remember filming an episode about four or five years ago where Sam and Dean got thrown into an alternate universe by that dick Balthazar?”

Cas cut in, “Balthazar was not a dick, Dean. You just didn’t like him very much.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly like _me_ very much either, so…”

“That does not automatically make him a dick.”

“He didn’t strand _you_ in bizarro tv land with a lunatic assassin, Cas.”

“No, but he was my brother, and he tried to help when no one else would.”

“Tried to _help_?” Dean sputtered. “His favorite pastime was chucking me and Sammy into alternate dimensions and then trying to get us fucking killed! And who says no one else tried to help you. _I_ tried to help you, but you wouldn’t even answer my prayers half the time!”

Cas looked contrite at that accusation, staring down at his lap. “I’m sorry, Dean. If I could go back and do everything over, I would’ve come to you first.”

Dean stared at the top of Cas’s head in shock. He hadn’t meant to say all that, and he never expected an apology from Cas. They’d all be doing their best, making choices they felt they had to. Dean now understood all too well. He’d made his own wrong choices and had to live with the consequences. Even more upsetting to Dean was that _Cas_ had to live with the consequences of his wrong choices, too. At least Cas’s bad decisions had never left Dean permanently stuck as an entirely different _species_.

“I’m sorry too, Cas. For everything I put you and Sam through for the last year and a half. I get it now, why you did what you did.” He reached over and patted Cas’s hands where they’d nervously tangled themselves together in his lap.

Cas took a deep breath and nodded, not looking up from where Dean’s hand now rested atop his own.

Across the table, Jared started clapping. “Good show, guys. You planning to do that for the crowd this afternoon?”

Dean tore his eyes away from Cas and scowled at Jared’s now smiling face. “I’d rather not. That wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

“Sure, whatever you say. But some of the fans would go nuts to hear Dean and Cas actually talk about their feelings like that. You might want to give it a shot. I’d clear it with Singer, first. You don’t want to get in trouble for spoiling a moment they’ve got planned for next season.”

Dean absently stroked his thumb across Cas’s knuckles and shook his head. “You’re not getting it, man. That wasn’t a show. That was just the truth. That episode, the one where Sam and I got thrown into tv land? Something similar happened here. Today. In this room.”

Jared just stared at him now, like he was considering calling security and having his two friends shipped off to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. Dean stood up and held his hand out to Jared.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Dean Winchester, and this here’s Castiel, recently fallen Angel of the Lord.”

Cas sighed and stood up as well. “You don’t have to say it like that, Dean. I’m human now. You don’t have to remind everyone that I used to be an angel.”

“I thought it was important for context here, Cas.”

Cas gave a little shrug and held out his hand in imitation of Dean. Jared continued to stare at them both, and then suddenly yelled out, “Gen? GEN? Can you get out here for a sec?”

Dean lowered his hand. He turned to Cas and pushed Cas’s outstretched hand back down to his side. “Remember, it’s not really Ruby.”

Cas nodded, but still stood pressed against Dean’s side.

“What is it, Jared? Oh, hey guys,” she said on seeing Dean and Cas. It only took her about two seconds to pick up on the tension in the room. “What’s wrong?”

Jared pointed to Dean and then Cas. “Ask them. I’m gonna sit here at listen to this again, and I want you to assure me that I’m not being pranked.”

Gen regarded her husband for a second and then turned narrowed, critical eyes on Cas and Dean. She stood with her hands on her hips like a mom considering what punishment to mete out to her misbehaving toddlers. “Okay, then. Spill.”

Dean rolled his eyes and tried again. “I am not Jensen, and this is not Misha. I’m Dean Winchester, and this is Castiel. We got popped into your universe last night by a nutty goddess who thinks she’s doing us a favor by sending our asses on vacation, if you can believe that shit. We figure we’re stuck here for three days. At least, all the other people she’s tried to _help_ with her magic were back to normal after three days. So that’s what we’re assuming she did to us.”

While he talked, Gen’s eyes had grown wider, but she hadn’t moved out of her authoritative mom stance, yet.

Dean sighed, remembering one last thing that might prove his story. He removed his overshirt and then rolled up the left sleeve of his t-shirt, revealing the scarred handprint on his shoulder. Over the years it had faded from its original angry red into a barely-visible shiny patch of lumpy skin, but never completely healed. He was pretty sure it was the one distinguishing feature he had that Jensen didn’t.

Jared gasped and leaned in, one hand outstretched as if he felt compelled to touch the scar to make sure it was real.

“Does Jensen have one of these?”

Gen swallowed hard but still stood firm. Her voice had softened though, as she grasped the seriousness of the situation. “So, you’re telling us this is like some French Mistake bullshit from that episode back in season six?”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes! Finally, someone gets it!” He pulled his shirt back on as he slumped down in his seat.

“Is some rogue angel coming to hunt you down again?” Gen asked.

“We don’t believe so, no,” Cas replied. “Rhiannon sent us here. She isn’t trying to hurt us, or any of you. In her mind, she was only trying to grant our wishes.”

“So the two of you wished for a vacation in an alternate universe?” Jared asked. “That’s kind of a fucked up wish, if you ask me.”

Cas sat down now, casting a slightly horrified look at Dean. “I believe that part of it may be my fault.”

“How so?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“You and Sam were talking in the car yesterday, about this being our last hunt for a while. You wanted me to have a chance to do normal things, now that I’m human. It may have had me wondering what life would be like if there were no monsters to worry about.”

Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. “No monsters! So she throws us here, where there really _aren’t_ any monsters to get in the way. Just fucking actors. And goddamn conventions. Oh, shit. Conventions.”

Dean sobered up instantly and turned his attention back to Jared, who was still gaping open-mouthed at them. “Please, swear to me that this convention isn’t like that travesty Becky Rosen threw together? There’s no LARPing, at least. Right?”

It was Gen who answered them this time. “No, no LARPing. But a lot of people will be in costume. There’s usually at least fifteen or twenty people dressed as Cas with the trench coat and wings. A few others will show up dressed as the Winchesters, or Crowley, or probably Rowena since she’s been a bigger part of the show lately.” She shut up when Dean visibly shuddered.

“Yeah, I’ll just do my best to ignore them, then.”

Jared snorted. “Yeah. It’ll be harder to ignore Mark and Ruth, though.”

Gen finally relaxed, going instantly from scolding mother into commiserating friend mode. “Oh, yeah. The actors who play Crowley and Rowena. They’re awesome people, and you’re gonna love them, if you can get past the fact they probably look and sound exactly like the King of Hell and his witchy mama.”

Dean sat there, looking between Gen and Jared as they accepted the truth as Dean had laid it out for them. “Does this mean you believe us?”

Jared shrugged. “I’ve been doing this show ten years now. It’s sorta trained me to believe a lot of things that sound outright insane on the surface. And just from listening to the two of you, and watching you, it’s obvious you’re not Jensen and Misha. I mean, Jensen and I are like brothers. We’ve been best friends for ten years. I’ve known Misha for seven years, and I watched the two of them together enough that I know you’re not putting on an act. This isn’t how they’d try to prank me.”

Dean stared at this man, a dead-ringer for Sam, and clearly just as intelligent and observant. He couldn’t explain exactly why he’d never mistake him for Sam, though, and he assumed that Jared was experiencing a similar creeping feeling about him.

Cas put his hand back on Dean’s shoulder. He’d long ago learned that simple act seemed to help them both feel more grounded. The scar on Dean’s skin may have faded some over the years, but the mark on his soul from where Cas had grabbed on when he pulled him from Hell was as vibrant and fresh as ever. Cas believed the touch triggered some subconscious memory of safety and comfort for Dean, and it pleased him that the simple gesture still had a kind of healing power, even if he no longer did.

Gen watched their silent exchange and stole a quick glance at Jared. He translated the look she shot him as _are you seeing this? Are you actually seeing this?_ She cleared her throat to get their attention again. “And to think I accused Jensen and Misha of playing up the way you two are with each other for the cameras because of their own gross love.” She just stood there shaking her head.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, hunching protectively closer to Cas.

Gen shrugged, finally taking a seat. “There’s fans out there who think the only reason Dean and Cas have any chemistry on screen is because Jensen and Misha can’t turn it off long enough to play a scene.”

Dean and Cas exchanged a nervous glance before Dean asked, “Jensen and Misha?”

Jared bolted up straight in his chair and shot Gen an _oh shit_ look, but she was grinning. For just a second, Dean was worried by that grin. It was just evil enough to make him wonder if she was actually Ruby, and the demon was about to reveal some secret dastardly plot. Instead of pulling Lucifer out of her sleeve, she rested both hands on the table and looked right into Dean’s eyes.

“Jensen and Misha? They’re married.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Married,” Dean said in the flattest and most controlled voice he could muster. If he ever got his hands on Rhiannon, he’d kill her for this. It was one thing to chuck them into some hellish alternate reality where they had to pretend to be a couple of famous actors again. It was another thing entirely to shove them in front of a huge crowd of people who thought they were fucking _married to each other_. He was under the impression, from Jared and Gen’s mention of panels and autograph sessions, that they’d have to interact with these people to a certain extent. But he wasn’t sure he could handle trying to fake his way through pretending to be married to Cas without accidentally letting his real feelings slip through. He’d kept them locked down for so long, knowing that Cas didn’t feel the same way about him. If he pulled the stopper out of that bottle now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to cram it back in. He sat there in mute horror while Gen just grinned at them, giving them a moment for the full extent of their dilemma to sink in.

Cas noticed his hand had slipped from Dean’s shoulder to his back at some point, but he was too afraid to move it and draw Dean’s attention. He’d thought Rhiannon had selected a monster-free universe because of his wish, but he was mortified at the notion that she may have actually selected it for this very reason. He’d accepted long ago that he would never have a relationship with Dean beyond the brotherly and familial. He was an adopted Winchester, and he never expected anything more than that. He cursed himself for even daring to think about his long repressed desires where Rhiannon could’ve sensed them and turned them against him. His only comfort was that Dean was fully himself here, and wasn’t an unwitting or forced participant in a sham relationship.

Dean shook himself and sat up. “Jensen and Misha are married.”

Gen answered. “Yup. Going on three years now.”

“And… the people at the convention? They all know.” It wasn’t a question, but Dean needed confirmation.

“Everyone knows, Dean,” Jared said. “Their relationship was the worst kept secret on set. The day you… er… _they_ met, we started a betting pool on how long it would take them to start going out.” He was grinning now. “I won, so I guess I should thank you, too, Cas. If you hadn’t pulled Dean out of Hell, Jensen would’ve never met Misha, and I’d be $800 poorer.”

Cas just squinted back at him. “If I hadn’t carried Dean’s soul from Hell, you likely would’ve been unemployed, as well. The apocalypse would’ve proceeded as scheduled, and Lucifer would’ve succeeded in destroying the Earth.”

Dean laughed and patted Cas’s knee. “Easy there, man. It was a joke. He didn’t mean it literally.”

Cas nodded, still staring down Jared. “I see. But Hell is not funny.”

Jared gulped, just now realizing that the two men seated across from him had actually been to the _real_ Hell. It wasn’t just a bunch of words they’d said, or special effects. Dean had spent forty years in Hell, which meant that the both of them had also spent a year in Purgatory, if the show was accurate about what they’d been up to more recently. He was looking at a real angel, billions of years old and as alien as anything he could imagine. And Dean had spent the last year or so as a demon, or as close as it comes. They had said something about Cas being an ex-angel, so Jared hoped that meant that Dean was also now an ex-demon, based on what had gone down at the end of their last season of filming.

He nodded at Cas’s statement about Hell. Jared’s character may have spent howeverthefuck long locked in Lucifer’s cage, but _Jared_ hadn’t.

“You’re right, guys. Sorry about that. I get paid to pretend to be Sam, but I can’t even imagine what Hell is really like.”

Gen piped in again. “But you guys should know, you’re gonna get questions like that all weekend. These people don’t know you’re really _you_. And they’re gonna ask about what it’s like to _play_ you. And you have to at least try to answer them like Jensen and Misha would.”

“Do they, though?” Jared asked, an absolutely devilish grin on his face. And to think Dean had worried about Gen turning into Ruby. It was starting to look like they really had to worry about Jared turning into _Sam_.

Gen smiled back, slowly catching on to what her husband was suggesting. “They could probably pull off the Cockles panel tomorrow afternoon in character. That’s the sort of odd thing the fans would think was hilarious and adorable. But they still have to survive the rest of the weekend.”

“Cockles panel?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Gen replied. “Collins and Ackles. Smoosh them together, and you get Cockles.”

Cas looked confused, and Dean looked horrified, remembering his awkward and frustrating conversation with Sam after meeting the high school girls who wrote the musical about them. “Is this like a Dee-stiel thing?”

Gen waved a dismissive hand at them. “It’s Destiel. And no, Cockles is real. Destiel is still all in the subtext.”

Dean groaned and willed himself to disappear back to his own safe little monster-filled universe. The goddamned subtext had come to have its revenge on him.

Gen glanced down at her watch and bolted up out of her chair. “I have to finish getting ready, but the three of you have your little meet and greet coffee panels in less than an hour. I think there’s pretty much zero chance of Dean or Cas making it through one of those on their own though. What do you think they should do?”

Jared studied Dean and Cas thoughtfully for a moment before sighing and admitting defeat. “Yeah, looks like you’re gonna have to pull an Italy. At least you gave me a little advance warning this time. I’ll call down and tell them you’re not feeling well. I’ll make sure everyone gets a refund, and I’ll invite them to have breakfast with me instead. Neither of you is ready to face a dozen fans alone in a room for an hour.”

“I can stay here and get them ready for the rest of the day, if you think it’ll help,” Gen offered. “I was gonna crash your meet and greet, but playing with these two?” She waved her hand at Cas and Dean as an impish grin lit her face. “This has real potential for fun.”

Jared groaned and downed the last of his coffee before getting up. “Just don’t break them. We’ll need them later.” He leaned down and kissed Gen. “And you two, be good for my wife.”

Dean nodded. “Of course, man. And thank you. For believing us, and for trying to help. This can’t be easy for you. Either of you. So, thanks.”

“No problem,” Jared said, heading for the door. He hesitated with his hand on the knob, and turned back to face Dean and Cas. “Just… do you have any idea what happened to Jensen and Misha?” He fidgeted with one of the buttons on his shirt and looked exactly like Sammy pulling one of his concerned puppy looks. “I mean, you don’t think they’re in any danger, do you?”

Dean visibly calmed at Jared’s display of worry for his friends. It was a relief that at least in this universe his and Sam’s doppelgangers were close. That had been one of the worst things to discover the last time he’d jumped realities. To think that in any universe he and Sam just didn’t like each other seemed cosmically wrong somehow.

“If Rhiannon did a straight swap, they woke up this morning in Laramie, Wyoming. They’re not in any danger, unless Sammy decides to drive back to the bunker and stops for burritos along the way. But yeah, he’ll take care of them. No worries.”

The tension melted off Jared’s face and his hand fell away from the button he’d been worrying with his fingers. “Good. Thanks. That’s… it’s good to know they’ll come back in one piece.”

Cas confirmed it, finally flashing a small but reassuring smile in Jared’s direction. “Sam won’t let them come to harm. They are perfectly safe with him.”

Jared actually cracked a smile at that and once again made for the door. “I’ll see y’all in a few hours for the group photo ops. At least I’ll be there to ease you into those.” With a wicked grin, he turned and left.

“So,” Gen said, sitting back down at the table now that she wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere else. “How are we gonna help you both survive this weekend?”

Cas asked the first question. “What did he mean by group photo ops?”

Gen felt like this was the greatest day ever. She’d sort of been disappointed when they filmed the French Mistake episode that Sam and Dean hadn’t actually appeared, but she was glad Misha hadn’t really died, so she could live with her disappointment. It was more than a fair trade if she got to keep Misha around in her life.

It had been so long since she’d worked on Supernatural, but sitting over breakfast with the real people the show was based on was still almost overwhelming. She’d been killed off the show by an actor, her friend, playing one of the men sitting across the table from her, and it suddenly hit her that she had been playing a demon. And one of these men had killed that demon in real life-- a demon that looked exactly like her. She was immediately grateful that neither of them had brought it up. If they weren’t going to mention it, then neither would she. There was no need to make this any more surreal than it already was.

She shifted in her seat a little, reached for a sheet of paper at the end of the table and set it in front of Dean and Cas. “This is the schedule of events. Ignore the meet and greet, since J’s taking care of that. The first event this morning is the photo op at 10:30. They usually take about an hour, and then you’ll have a break for lunch.”

That didn’t really answer Cas’s question, so he repeated it. “I still don’t understand what’s expected of us. Will we have to take photographs?”

“This isn’t like some sort of modeling shit, is it?” Dean asked, a hint of worry threading back into his voice as he remembered the magazine cover they found in Jensen’s trailer, with him and Sam posing like a couple of douchebags.

Gen looked up from the schedule and smiled reassuringly. “Nah, it’s actually a lot of fun. Fans pay to pose with you. You usually just have to stand there with your arm around them, or do whatever silly thing they request with whatever props they bring in, and then boom, on to the next one. The fans love it, and they get to keep a souvenir of the moment they met their heroes. Everyone’s happy. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Dean and Cas both looked a little dubious. Cas, because he wasn’t really used to interacting with large groups of people yet. He’d been doing fine on cases dealing with individuals and even small groups of cops and a few families, but he had absolutely no point of reference for how he should act in the spotlight with hundreds of people scrutinizing his every move.

Dean, however, just couldn’t get past the notion of posing for hundreds of pictures. His heart pounded and it felt like his tongue had shriveled up in his mouth at the idea that half the people in the building expected to leave with an eight-by-ten glossy of his face. Most of the time he avoided having his picture taken like his life depended on it. Frequently, his life _did_ depend on it, especially when most of the posed photographs in his past were taken courtesy of one law enforcement agency or another. The only props in those photos were mugshot letter boards and an oversized ruler painted on the wall behind him. Other than the occasional blackmail shot of Sammy sleeping or otherwise compromised, they kept their photography limited to cataloguing the relics they discovered in the bunker, fake id pictures, and the very occasional picture of themselves just for fun.

He forced back the unwelcome recollection of that one file in his phone that held maybe two dozen pictures of Sam, Charlie, and Cas that he probably shouldn’t keep stored in his phone but couldn’t bring himself to delete. He had hard copies of most of the photos back in his room, but he liked knowing they were there in his pocket too, and often found himself looking through them when he couldn’t sleep. It was comforting to remember his family was only a click away. It’s not like he’d admit it to anyone, though.

“If you insist,” Dean replied, shifting in his seat and covering the fidget by finally picking out a chocolate croissant. “So after lunch, then what?”

Gen could see that Dean wasn't thrilled, but he was still trying, so she glanced back at the schedule. “Uh, Misha has a panel with Mark. They’re calling it Heaven and Hell.” She chuckled for a second before looking back up and seeing that Dean and Cas looked lost again. “Mark plays Crowley.”

Dean looked surprised for a second and then turned to look at Cas. Cas did not look happy.

Gen started to stretch a hand across the table toward Cas. “He’s not really Crowley, Cas. But yeah, that panel’s probably gonna have to change, unless you want to try and explain this all to Mark.” She drew her hand back, her brow crinkling a bit as she thought through her options.

Dean interrupted her thoughts. “I think it’s probably best to keep the number of people in the know to the absolute minimum.”

Gen nodded, a little sad. “Yeah, you’re right. First of all, if word got out, it would be chaos out there. Not to mention you’d probably either get hauled off to the asylum or picked up by DARPA for questioning, or something. Second, this is the first con hosted by this group in Paris, and the organizers have been having more trouble than they expected. They sold more tickets than they had physical seats because they were originally told they had access to two conference rooms, but the hotel only has one main ballroom and two small meeting rooms for the photo ops. They’ve already had to reschedule all the panels that had been arranged to run simultaneously, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble to swap you out for one of the other misplaced panel members. Maybe Kim would fill in. Or Osric.”

She’d started to zone out, thinking out loud, so Dean cleared his throat to bring her back to Earth. “That’s all well and good, whoever Kim and Osric are, but can we just get through what Cas and I are expected to do? If we’re supposed to know all about Jensen and Misha, maybe we can work out everyone else’s details after we’re, at a minimum, you know, at least marginally acquainted with your universe.”

Gen looked a little sheepish. She repressed her instinct to plan for every contingency all at once and got back to their most pressing concerns. “Kim plays Jody Mills, and Osric played Kevin Tran.”

Dean’s face hardened into a grimace for just a second at the mention of Kevin and Gen realized she probably shouldn’t have said anything. Then she sighed. “You’re going to run into all of these people at some point or another today, and it’s going to be difficult, I know, seeing duplicates of people you’ve lost. I am so sorry that you both have to go through with this, but you’re here, and we’re just going to do the best we can, okay?”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “We can do that, right Cas?” He looked up from his pastry to see Cas doing the same, sad nod.

“You may as well tell us everyone we’re likely to meet, then,” Cas said solemnly. “So we can prepare ourselves properly.”

Gen nodded and steeled her nerves. “Well, you already know about Mark, Ruth, Osric, and Kim. That leaves Rob and Richard, who sort of run the show on stage, so you’ll be seeing a lot of them. Rob played Chuck, and Richard played Gabriel.”

Cas’s eyes went wide, and for the first time since they sat down, he actually looked a little excited and hopeful. “Gabriel?”

Gen tried to rein him in. “He _played_ Gabriel, but yeah, he does sort of make himself out to be a little bit of a trickster, so you’ll probably feel right at home with him.”

Cas smiled, and Dean was happy for him. Cas had told him about how Metatron had used Gabriel’s memory to trick him into gathering his army, and how he still wasn’t sure whether Gabriel was alive out there somewhere, back in his own special version of Witness Protection. Maybe Cas could at least pretend he had his brother back for a few days. It might be therapeutic, even.

Gen moved on to the rest of the list while Dean was distracted by Cas. “That leaves Matt, who played young John when you got popped back to the seventies; Gil, who played Henry; and Felicia, who plays Charlie.” She looked down at the schedule again, mostly to give them a chance to absorb the list of familiar faces they were likely to encounter.

Dean and Cas took full advantage of the lull in conversation. It would be unsettling for Dean to see that younger version of his dad, and his grandfather he’d only met once, but who had sacrificed himself in order to capture Abaddon. It would be a relief, however, to see Charlie, even if it was just an actress who played her. In a sea of antagonists and people they just couldn’t save, at least there would be one comforting face to focus on. Well, Charlie and Jody. He spared a glance at Cas, who smiled reassuringly when Dean reached over to pat his knee. They could do this.

“Fine. So we’ll deal with it. What’s up after lunch?”

Gen squirmed in her seat for a second before forcing herself to sit up straight and deal with this head on. “After lunch is the Team Free Will panel. It’s you two, plus Jared and Felicia, onstage for an hour, answering questions mostly.”

“Uh,” said Cas. “What kinds of questions?”

Gen shrugged. “It varies. Some about life on set, some about plot points on the show, some about your personal lives. It just depends on the audience.”

“And you think we can stand up there without looking like idiots?” Dean interrupted. “I don’t know shit about life on set, or being Jensen.” He cast a nervous glance at Cas but didn’t bring up the _married_ thing again.

“Yeah, but Jared and Felicia can try to help you out. I guess we should probably bring her in on this. Of everyone here, she’s most likely to believe you, and to keep quiet about it. Hang on.”

Gen pulled out her phone and sent a few quick texts. “Her first panel isn’t until you guys go for your photo ops, so we have time to fill her in.”

“You think this is wise?” Cas asked. “She can be trusted with this?”

Gen snorted. “Yeah, of everyone on the cast, she’s the most like her character in real life. And she can keep a secret.”

Dean balked at the notion that their current universe constituted anything remotely resembling real life, but conceded that, for everyone but him and Cas, this _was_ their real lives. Gen scolded him and reminded him that _he_ was the unreal one in their universe.

“Felicia’s clever and geeky and delightful, which is a lot like Charlie. How long do you think it would take Charlie to accept and adapt to a situation like this one? Trust me, she’ll be fine.”

“Okay then.” Dean answered, sounding unsure.

“You guys have to give me a little credit. I mean, I believed you, right? Then again, I’ve been around this show and all its meta weirdness long enough to have actually thought about what it would be like to run into you in real life. I even read fan fiction about it once or twice.”

Dean groaned and brought a hand up to cover his face. “Don’t tell me about it, please. I accidentally read fan fiction once. It’s bad enough Chuck used to publish our lives for the world to see, but at least his books were factually accurate.”

Gen ducked her head and bit her lip. Yeah, it was hard to remember that this was actually Dean and Cas, and she couldn’t just tease them like she could Jensen and Misha. Jensen may have lightened up in the last few years about the fan fiction, but that still didn’t mean he wanted to hear about it. It must've been a thousand times worse for Dean to think about, since it was about him personally instead of just a character he played. “Sorry guys, but you’re spending the next couple of days surrounded by fans. The good news is they probably won’t talk to you directly about the weird stuff, even though they’re all thinking about it. Just... try your best not to think about it.”

Dean groaned again, but Cas just sat there calmly. Charlie had explained the small but thriving Supernatural fandom to him, but Cas largely chose to ignore it. It didn’t matter to him what other people did with their free time, or said about him. Dean still seemed upset though, so Cas touched his shoulder again. “It’s not important, Dean. Let’s just worry about what we have some control over, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Cas.”

Gen took the momentary lull in the debate to get back to her schedule. “So after your panel, there’s an autograph session, then a break for dinner, and then the concert.”

“Concert?” Dean asked, perking up a little.

“Yeah, Rob’s band-- that’s Chuck to you-- his band is playing a concert tonight. Jensen sometimes gets up on stage for a few songs, but I’m thinking it would be best for you to take a pass on it. He and Rob have a routine they do, and you won’t know it, so maybe just take a long dinner and then come back to the room so you can get an early start on preparing for tomorrow’s panels.”

Dean looked a little disappointed, but agreed with everything Gen had said.

Cas positively perked up at the suggestion they take the evening off. “I would like to walk around the city a little while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation for us, Dean. We should take advantage of the opportunity.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at that. This was something he could do for Cas, something that Cas _chose_ to do, and wanted to do _with him_. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Cas beamed at him until Gen flipped over her schedule page and continued with the Sunday morning schedule.

“Tomorrow morning is a special breakfast with the entire cast and a few dozen fans. It’s a little different than anything we’ve ever done before, but you can let everyone else take most of the questions; and Jared, Felicia, and I will help you get through it. Then there’s individual photo ops for each of you, the Jared and Jensen panel, and finally the Jensen and Misha panel tomorrow night, which you guys can pull off if you announce in advance that you’re doing the whole thing in character as Dean and Cas. The audience will love it, and you’ll just get a chance to be yourselves.”

“And then what happens?” Cas asked. “When the convention is over, we will still be stuck here until at least Monday night. What are we to do?”

Gen smiled. “Jared and I, and Misha and Jensen, were planning to stay through Friday. We’re just going to relax, maybe hit a few museums, eat good food, and have fun.”

“So it’s okay if we stay, too?” Dean asked, a little worried that these strangers wouldn’t want to babysit a couple of freaks from an alternate universe any longer than they had to. “Because we can stay out of your hair, you know, find our own way around.”

Gen shook her head. “Nah, you’re more than welcome to stay. In fact, it would be awesome if you stayed. Jared is gonna have a field day picking your brains for character insight. But whenever you do get sucked back to your own dimension or whatever, I assume it’s gonna spit Misha and Jensen out wherever it plucks you from, so it’s probably best if they end up where they expected to be, instead of some random place you happen to wander off to. They do have lives they’ll probably be eager to get back to.”

“I get it,” Dean said. “But thanks anyway, for not kicking us out. Or having us arrested, or whatever. Thanks.”

Gen was about to reply but was interrupted by a knock on the door. She got up to answer it and in bounded Charlie. Or Felicia. Damn, it was going to be hard to remember everyone’s names.

“Hey, guys. What’s up with the early morning meeting? I thought you were off with your little coffee klatches already.” Felicia stepped up behind Dean and Cas, reaching around each of their necks to give them a sort of double choke hold hug, before taking the seat next to Dean.

Gen took on the duty of explaining everything to Felicia, sparing Dean and Cas the brunt of the heavy lifting. They’d already been through the whole story twice now, it almost didn’t seem fair to make them go through it all again.

Felicia luckily reacted exactly as Gen predicted. There was the wide eyed shock, a few disbelieving attempts at humor, followed by a kind of calm and wondering acceptance. She’d even let herself slip a little into Charlie’s character when she realized it seemed to put Dean at ease. This woman was a true gem, and Dean was grateful to her for it.

“So, what, you just need me to pick up some of the slack?”

Gen nodded. “Yeah, if you can help Jared cover for them during their first panel, at least until they get the hang of it, that would be fantastic.”

“I can do that.” She turned sharply in her seat to face Dean and Cas. “Here’s the deal. I’ll give you all the dirt I’ve got on Jen and Mish so you can skate through your panels, but in exchange, I want you to tell me all about Charlie. I mean, did she really make you the Handmaiden of Moondoor? And spent a year in Oz? I have to know all about it!” She was practically bouncing in her seat. “And how long did it take her to crack that code, because it felt like _years_ when we were filming it, but that was probably just because Dean was off summoning Death and learning that the Mark of Cain could be contained within an angel’s grace. Eep! OH MY GOD YOU ACTUALLY MADE QUESO FOR DEATH! Can I get that recipe?”

Dean laughed. “Chill, Charlie… uh, Felicia. It’s weird, but you could be her twin sister. But it’s a deal. Just get us through this weekend and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Felicia beamed at him and leaned in for a hug. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. I love playing Charlie, and now that I know she’s a real person out there somewhere, I want to do her justice, you know? I have such mad respect for her.”

“We all do,” Cas replied, smiling.

“Good,” Felicia agreed, and turned back to Gen. “So what do they need to know?”

Gen checked her watch, and then sighed. “Whatever we can tell them in the next thirty eight minutes.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gen and Felicia were still going over Jensen and Misha’s personal lives in as much detail as the general public would be aware of when Jared returned to the room a half an hour later. Dean was no slouch at bullshitting his way through practically any situation, and he had an incredible recall for detail. Even still, he was being asked to remember an overwhelming number of facts on incredibly short notice.

Cas had retained every iota of information the way he always did. It impressed the hell out of Dean that-- even without the angel mojo-- Cas’s brain still functioned like a massive database. Input information and it was guaranteed to be there forever. It actually made this whole process a lot easier. Dean suspected he’d be turning to Cas frequently to fill in details he’d forget, especially since his head already hurt from the sheer quantity of information he was trying to absorb.

Finally, five minutes before their photo op was due to start, there was another knock at the door. Jared opened it to four people wearing yellow t-shirts printed with the convention’s logo on the front, ready to escort them downstairs. Gen and Felicia gave each of them a reassuring hug, and mumbled encouragement and reassurances until they were out the door and hurrying down the hall toward the waiting elevator.

Amid the crowd of handlers, Dean felt stiff and awkward. It felt too much like being arrested and escorted away by feds. He absently rubbed at his wrists a few times to remind himself he wasn’t handcuffed, and that these people had no intention of throwing him in prison.

Inside the elevator, he quietly asked Jared, “Do you always go out with a posse like this? Because it’s fucking weird, man.”

Jared huffed out a laugh and answered. “At conventions? Yeah. Trust me. You want them to keep at least an arm’s length circle around you when everyone else in the room has a con ticket.” He shrugged, like this was just a basic fact of life. “They’re fans. They want to get close to us, but they respect the posse. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

Cas was practically glued to Dean’s side, so he heard Jared’s answer too. It didn’t make him any more inclined to pull away from Dean though, and he just pressed in closer as the elevator doors slid open on the main floor of the hotel.

There were groups of people standing around, waiting for whatever activity their tickets indicated was up next. A few of the fans recognized them at once, and next thing they knew their security team had opened up an impromptu corridor for them to walk through the gathering crowd. People took pictures and waved and greeted them, but Dean thought it was all pretty calm and reserved compared to, say, an Ozzy show.

Cas on the other hand had never been to an Ozzy show, and he wasn’t handling the attention quite as well. Remembering Gen and Felicia’s comments about how Jensen and Misha tended to stick pretty close together in public, Dean threw an arm around his shoulders and drew him in close to whisper, “It’s okay, man, just smile and wave a little. We’re gonna be okay. It’s all good.”

Cas took a deep breath and managed to at least smile back at Dean, and nodded. “This is definitely not what I had in mind when I wished for a monster-free vacation.”

Dean outright laughed at that. “You can ask Rhiannon for a refund then.”

Cas even laughed a little bit, and the crowd didn’t seem to mind that they were being ignored by “Jensen” and “Misha.” In fact, Dean overheard one girl squealing to her friend _oh my god aren’t they adorable?_ And it didn’t even bother him.

They felt sufficiently comfortable enough to start waving back at the crowd as they were led past a long line of people and into a small conference room set up like a photography studio. Their handlers spread out around the edges of the room, and they’d barely had time to realize what was going on when the first fan was ushered over to them.

Jared greeted her warmly, and the poor thing looked like she was about to faint. She managed to stutter out, “Can you all just hold me?”

Jared said, “Sure!” He looked expectantly at Dean and Cas, and jerked his head to the side in a _get with the program, guys_ sort of gesture, and suddenly they were sharing an incredibly awkward group hug. Two seconds later the camera flashed, the girl thanked them all profusely, and Jared told her to have a great day. Then the next girl in line was suddenly there, handing out flower crowns and asking them to dance with her. They all pretended to be fairies for a second, and then the next person in line was asking them to pretend to fight over her. It was one of the most surreal and perplexing things Dean and Cas had ever been a part of. And they’d been to Hell. At least this was fun. Dean was laughing harder than he had in a long time at Cas’s awkward attempts to play along with each new request, and even Cas eventually loosened up and got in on the joke. Dean figured he owed Gen an apology for acting so grumpy when she’d tried to explain it.

About fifteen minutes into the session, Dean realized something important. All of these people were genuinely thrilled to meet him. Or at least thrilled to meet Jensen, Misha, and Jared. They may have just been actors playing him, Cas, and Sam on some tv show, but they were portraying _his life_ , and it obviously touched these people enough that they’d spent their hard earned money for the chance to hug them for just a second. He was even used to answering to Jensen by that point, and was surprised to discover that it wasn’t all that upsetting.

The last time he’d had to fake his way through a different Jensen’s life, it hadn’t been anything like this. It had been a mixture of drudgery and boredom and fear, but this? This was awesome.

For all the times he’d risked his life to make the world a safer place, he never expected any kind of thanks or appreciation. He never believed he deserved it, just as Cas never did any of what he did expecting any kind of recognition. Well, aside from that one time he thought he was God, but they didn’t talk about that.

About half way through the photo session, after the hundredth person had tearfully thanked them for saving their life, or teaching them about the importance of family, or any number of other small but powerful stories, Dean and Cas caught each other’s eyes and they both knew they were thinking the same thing. They may never experience anything like this in their own universe, and they couldn’t keep doing what they do if they were recognized for their efforts publicly there. But here? In this foreign world devoid of demons and monsters and magic? They mattered to people. They were important. Their story was changing people’s lives.

When the last photo was done and the room finally cleared out, Jared turned to them with a huge grin. “Did you guys enjoy that?”

It was Cas who answered, “Very much so. It was disorienting, but ultimately satisfying.” He caught Dean nodding enthusiastically out the corner of his eye, and smiled to himself. It warmed something deep in Cas’s chest to know that Dean had experienced the same sense of satisfaction and purpose that he’d felt, and didn’t try to dismiss or reject it for once.

“Yeah, disorienting’s a good word for it,” Dean replied. “I’ve never worn so many bizarre hats in my entire life. Where do people even come up with this shit?”

Jared shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I think they try to outdo each other. But it’s impressive, and keeps things interesting.”

“So where do we go for lunch?” Dean asked.

“We can either head to the green room and see what’s there, or we can go back up to the room and order something from room service.”

“Green room?” Cas and Dean asked in unison, Dean’s voice gone uncomfortably tight.

Dean cleared his throat, and continued, “Yeah, not so much with the green room, if you don’t mind. Let’s just go back upstairs.”

Jared looked confused for a minute, and then remembered. “Oh! Right. Zachariah and his apocalypse cheeseburgers. Yeah, I can see that would be an appetite killer. Sure, we’ll go back to the room.”

They headed toward the door and could already hear another group of fans gathering out in the hallway for the next photo session. Jared stepped out, once again flanked by their handlers, and ran right into Crowley. Or Mark, as it were. Cas stopped dead in his tracks, and Dean almost walked into him, but instead used his momentum to swing around to Cas’s side, once again flinging a reassuring arm around his shoulders. He whispered, “Not Crowley,” into Cas’s ear, before Cas nodded almost imperceptibly and got his feet moving again. It helped some that Mark was wearing a Doctor Who t-shirt under a blue sportcoat and a pair of dark jeans instead of Crowley’s usual slick suit.

Jared and Mark shook hands and exchanged a brief greeting in passing. Dean felt Cas’s right arm slide up around his waist. It had been drilled into them that Jensen and Misha were on the touchy-feely side, but they hadn’t been able to really bring themselves to hang all over each other until now. If Cas needed a reason to avoid shaking hands with a Crowley doppelganger, then Dean would let him hide his arm around his back. If Dean secretly enjoyed the casually close contact, that was just a bonus, and nobody’s business but his own.

A new line of people had formed outside the room they’d just left. Mark nodded as they cleared the doorway so he could enter for his own photo session. He suddenly turned back though, stopped right in front of Dean and Cas, and winked at the first few girls in his photo line.

“You going to play a few songs for us tonight, Jensen?”

Jared was a few steps further down the hall talking with one of the girls who’d shared a more personal story in the thirty seconds they’d spent with her, but he glanced up at Dean when he heard Mark’s question. Luckily it had been something they’d discussed and Dean had an excuse at the ready.

“Ah, not tonight, Mark. We’re still a little jetlagged, and we’ve got the early breakfast panel tomorrow. Us old guys need our rest.”

Mark just grinned at them, patted Cas amicably on the shoulder just below where Dean’s hand rested, and turned to the first girl in line.

“I guess we’ll just have to take it upon ourselves to bring the house down then. Shall we?” Mark offered her his elbow and escorted the flustered girl into the room while her friends squealed with delight.

Dean leaned over to the girl’s two friends, and in a conspiratorial whisper said, “Just don’t go making any deals with him.” Then he winked at them and led Cas back to Jared and their handlers to a fresh chorus of giggling and thanks.

The walk back to the elevators was a lot less stressful. Dean still had one arm over Cas’s shoulders, and Cas was still leaning on him for support. Dean wasn’t sure if Cas had just forgotten about it, but his arm was still wrapped tight around his waist, his hand clutching at Dean’s hip. If Cas had forgotten, Dean sure wasn’t going to bring it up. Instead, as they waved and smiled at the fans, he leaned in to whisper in Cas’s ear.

“You know, I hated this entire idea at first, but this is actually kind of awesome.”

Cas waved back to a particularly enthusiastic group of fans who were all wearing sock monkey hats and inexplicably waving bunches of what looked like kale, and chanting MISHA MISHA MISHA. He didn’t’ even break his stride when he replied, “It’s confounding, but yes, it is kind of awesome.”

The elevator doors finally whooshed shut behind them, sealing them into the comparatively quiet space with their handlers. Jared was focused on his phone, sending and receiving a series of rapid-fire text messages. Dean and Cas held on to each other for the entire ride. The only sounds were the electric hum and whine of the elevator’s motors, the soft shuffling of feet, and the mechanical DING as they passed each floor before they reached their own. Even in this relatively private and safe space, neither of them seemed inclined to let go.


	9. Chapter 9

Their handlers delivered them safely back to their room, and then left with a reminder that they’d be back just before two o’clock. Jared thanked them as Dean finally pulled away from Cas in search of the room service menu. He found it on a desk in the corner of the room and brought it over so he and Cas could read through it together. Hey, they had a limited amount of time. It was just practical to share.

Jared shut the door and they were finally alone. “Gen went out to do some shopping, but she’ll be back soon. She already called down and ordered lunch for us. I guess she figured you guys would need the break.”

“Huh,” Dean said, tossing the suddenly unnecessary menu down on the table. “Your wife’s definitely a keeper, man. I can’t imagine many people would react as well as she did to… whatever the hell is going on here.” Dean vaguely waved a hand between himself and Cas.

Jared sat down at the table and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He smiled softly at what he knew, coming from Dean Winchester, was a generous complement. Yeah, Gen was handling the sudden influx of the literal Supernatural like a champ, but he was still concerned for Dean and Cas. That’s just the kind of guy Jared was. He’d been playing Sam for ten years, and had made a case study of Dean. He, of all people, understood how difficult it must’ve been for both him and Cas to not only adjust to an entirely different reality, but to have to do so in such a public way. And he also appreciated their efforts to protect Jensen and Misha’s public reputations. Things could’ve been going a whole lot worse for everyone. It was only reasonable to try to do everything he could to keep this boat from rocking.

“You two seem to be doing okay, though, right? I mean, you handled meeting Mark just fine.”

Cas took an unconscious step closer to Dean, and again Dean was tempted to take advantage of the situation to comfort Cas, but he resisted. There was no danger here, and he’d been treading a very thin line, taking only those liberties that Jensen might take with Misha in public, while trying to keep his own feelings about Cas contained.

It didn’t help that they’d spent the last hour in almost constant contact, laughing and joking with fans and each other the entire time. He’d already let himself become accustomed to the casual touches in order to play his part, and he still had two and a half days to go. Dean needed to get ahold of himself before he said or did something regrettable.

Of course Cas understood they needed to put on an act and pretend to be a happily married couple. He hadn’t objected to Gen and Felicia’s description of Jensen and Misha’s usual touchy-feely behavior around each other. Regardless of the way the actors they were pretending to be in public were expected to behave, Dean worried how Cas would react if he knew how much Dean was enjoying all the touching. It wasn’t fair to Cas to push the limits of his trust like that. He could keep his hands to himself, at least when they were alone, without an expectant audience to play to.

“Yeah, you were right. He seems like a nice guy, which is the weirdest thing I’ve ever said about Crowley.” Dean looked momentarily stunned, then confused, and then just shrugged. “Even though he’s not Crowley.”

“It’s probably still best to avoid the public as much as possible,” Cas advised, and then turned to Jared. “I don’t want your friends to be perceived as antisocial or avoiding their responsibilities here this weekend, but the risk of discovery is too great to let ourselves become careless.”

Dean agreed. “It’s one thing to stand up in front of fans and get silly, but with people we’re supposed to know, I’m not sure how long we could keep up the charade.”

“I’m mainly concerned that we’ll be asked a question we won’t be able to answer.” Cas shifted even closer to Dean, nearly pressing into his side again, as a look of pure confusion descended over his features. “There were a dozen people waving kale at me and chanting Misha’s name. Does that have a logical explanation, or do you think narcotics were involved?”

Jared laughed, finally relaxing his posture, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. The gesture momentarily threw Dean off balance with its Sam-ness, but as soon as Jared spoke, the illusion broke.

“Misha runs this scavenger hunt every year. He gets people to do insane things for kicks, they raise a bunch of money for charity, and for some reason a lot of the items people have to do involve kale.” He shrugged. “What can I say, Misha has a thing for kale.”

Cas nodded, then glanced up at Dean and took one hesitant step toward the dining area. Dean tried his best not to smile, but followed Cas to the table, finally pulling out the chair across from Jared. “Do you think anyone will ask about this…”

“GISHWHES,” Jared filled in for him. “It’s called GISHWHES. And yeah, someone might ask about it. It starts in a few weeks so it’s probably on people’s minds.”

“And Misha asks them to do strange things, and people just… do them?” Dean asked as he settled into the chair next to Cas.

Jared shrugged. “He’s that kind of guy. If he wasn’t so damned nice, he’d probably be running the whole planet by now. Every year they break the Guinness world record for largest scavenger hunt. Last year he got NASA to name a rock on Mars GISHWHES.”

Cas laughed at that. “So if I’m asked about the upcoming item list, what should I say?”

“Tell them it’s top secret, then tell them something weird, like advise them to invest heavily in band-aids and marzipan or something. Or to collect hugs in a jar for later use. You know, just something off the wall. They’ll love it.”

Dean twisted in his seat, leaning back so he could see Cas. “Misha sounds like a kook, but after everything Gen and Felicia told us about him this morning, I can see why people are willing to take orders from him.”

Cas studied Dean thoughtfully for a moment before replying, “I only regret that we were not able to meet him. I would’ve been grateful to know his secrets.”

“Cas, is that your way of saying you want to be in charge?” Dean’s voice was light and joking, but he couldn’t help remembering a long-ago conversation when Cas accused Dean of doing the opposite of everything he’d asked. It had been years, but they’d been through so much since then, and Dean had always tried to do what Cas asked of him since then, even if he put up a token resistance at first.

Cas kept his gaze steadily focused on Dean, all thought of the compelling actor whose life he’d inadvertently stepped into pushed aside. He was still trying to redeem himself to Dean from the last time he tried to fix the world on his own. Everything that had happened in the years since he'd used the souls in Purgatory to defeat Raphael could be traced back to that one single mistake: not trusting Dean Winchester to help him. The Leviathan, Bobby’s death, the year in Purgatory, being subjected to Naomi’s mind control, the angels falling, not being there for Dean to help care for Sam when he was dying after the trials, Metatron, and finally the Mark. If only they had been there for each other instead of each trying to save the world without dragging each other into it, how much suffering could they have avoided?

He never broke eye contact, but Cas’s voice came out quieter when he answered. “Every time I’ve been in charge, things have gone spectacularly wrong. I think I’m better off as part of a team than I ever would be as a leader.”

Jared snorted. Of course he knew about Castiel’s shortcomings as a leader, but he also knew Misha, and Jensen. He’d been watching Cas and Dean together for a few hours, and could see it in a thousand little ways, how much they reminded him of his friends. It suddenly seemed important that he find some way to share some of those insights. “I think that’s Misha’s feeling as well. He goes on and on to his minions about his not-so-secret plans for world domination, but I think he’s happier where he is, surrounded by friends who keep his life interesting without letting it go to his head.”

Cas smiled and finally tore his eyes from Dean to regard Jared. “He sounds like a wise man.”

Jared shrugged. “I would never say it to his face, but yeah. He is. Jensen, too, for being smart enough to put a ring on it.”

Dean stopped breathing for a second and hoped the fluttering panic that ran through him wasn’t obvious to the other two men. Each successive reminder of Jensen and Misha’s relationship stung him harder than the last. From the stories they’d heard from Gen and Felicia, excitedly animated by the delight they couldn’t repress when recounting how Jensen and Misha got together in the first place, to the sorts of questions fans asked most often about their adventures together, to what Jared shared about what it’s like working with them, Dean started to wonder if he could really pull this off.

He risked a glance over at Cas, hoping his friend hadn’t picked up on his sudden tension. If he had, the calm contentment Cas radiated betrayed nothing. Dean was still safe, at least for now. He needed to get his shit together.

Faking a relationship was one thing. He could bluff his way through a tight spot with the best of them. The problem was, with Cas it was getting harder and harder to remember it was supposed to be fake.

Jared cleared his throat, finally pulling Dean’s attention back to the fact that he and Cas weren’t alone in the room. And okay, maybe Jared had let himself get a little carried away with trying to point out their similarities to Jensen and Misha. At least from Dean’s not-so-subtle reaction, he knew he was barking up the right tree. Maybe he didn’t need to push quite so hard after all. He still had two and a half days to help these idiots see what was blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes who was forced to share space with them for more than thirty seconds. He could be patient for now.

“So I think you’ll survive the panel, but what about the autographs? Fans are paying for the real deal, not a random scribble. Are you up for a little forgery?”

Dean laughed, relieved at Jared’s change of subject, and doubly relieved that it was actually something he was relatively skilled at. “Yeah, we got that covered this morning. Gen and Felicia worried about the same thing, but it turns out our handwriting is practically identical to Jensen and Misha’s.”

Cas found the paper with Gen’s schedule on it and slid it across the table for Jared to see. At the bottom of the page were Jensen and Misha’s signatures. “Genevieve assured us that these resemble their autographs well enough.”

Jared looked at the paper, then at Dean and Cas, then back to the paper. For the first time since they’d explained who they were and how they got there, Jared looked gobsmacked. “You wrote these?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, looking justifiably smug.

“Well, okay then, I guess,” Jared conceded, sliding the paper back to Cas. “I guess that’s one less thing to worry about.”

“Felicia was concerned that if we cancelled too many of our scheduled appearances the fans would be displeased,” Cas said. “We were prepared to practice until we could duplicate their handwriting exactly. She mentioned that some people also request a personalized note, and she was worried that we’d perfect their signatures but not be able to reproduce their actual handwriting. Luckily it was not an issue.”

“I wonder how that works,” Jared mused, happy to find yet another topic he could apply to his little experiment so soon, and without even having to try. “Identical people from different parallel universes, with totally different life experiences, can develop such similar handwriting. It makes me wonder what else you have in common with each other, you know? I mean, Cas, you were an angel for what? Billions of years? And still your writing’s the same as Misha’s? It’s just mind-boggling when you think about it.”

It was Cas’s turn to flush a little pink, eyes darting to the paper in his hands as he avoided looking directly at Dean. “I believe I retained Jimmy’s style of writing, at least when I write in English. It’s not entirely beyond the scope of possibility that if Misha were to write in Enochian, or Russian, or Chinese, or any other language that Jimmy was not familiar with, our handwriting would be easily distinguishable. I’m not sure how much we have in common beyond what I have inherited from when this body belonged to its original owner.”

“But this body,” Jared leaned his elbows on the table now, eyes bright and fully engaged in the metaphysical debate unfolding between them. He pointed one finger up and down at Cas, “This isn’t Jimmy’s original body, right? When you got blown up that first time…” Jared trailed off, eyes going from bright with interest to fully-bugged-out when he realized what he’d said.

Cas winced, but nodded reassuringly. “It’s okay. I understand what you mean. Yes, this is technically a replacement copy, I suppose you could call it.” Cas looked down at his lap, one hand on his chest. “I was resurrected in Jimmy’s image, and seem to have kept many of the physical… quirks, I suppose you’d call them, that I picked up from him.”

“You’re nothing like Jimmy, Cas.” Dean just blurted it out without thinking, and would’ve swallowed it back down if he could. He wondered why he was trying to disprove Jared’s theory that Misha and Cas were similar in anything beyond the superficial, with the most glaringly obvious difference being Misha and Jensen’s relationship. It was just too painful to imagine that Misha might resemble Cas in every significant way, except for _that_ way. Dean felt determined to dash the entire theory rather than learn that, despite how Misha might feel about Jensen, that Cas just couldn’t feel that way about him.

Cas cocked his head to the side, studying Dean even as Dean refused to look up from his hands nervously fidgeting in his lap. “How so?”

Dean finally stopped twiddling his fingers together and rubbed his palms against his thighs, sitting up straighter. “He was nothing like you. He didn’t even really _look_ like you.”

Jared’s raised eyebrows and the sidelong looks he kept shooting at Cas almost made Dean blurt out _shut up, Sammy_ , but he did manage to choke that one back down.

“Uh, I thought they were in the same body? How did he not look exactly like Jimmy?”

“He just... doesn’t,” Dean grumbled.

After a minute of incredulous open-mouthed staring, Jared replied, “Okay, how does that work?”

Dean sort of wanted to sink through the floor at that point, but Jared was insistent, and between an exact replica of Sam’s damned puppy dog eyes and Cas’s irrepressible curiosity, he had to come up with some sort of an explanation. He sighed, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “I could just tell. You walk different, you stand different, you look at me different. You’re just different, okay? It was obvious you weren’t the same person.”

Rather than accepting Dean’s explanation and moving on, Jared was intrigued. The seeds had already been planted and he felt duty-bound to at least water them now. He decided to push just a little bit more, maybe ease him into it from a slightly less threatening angle. “So, for example, I look like Sam, right?”

Dean and Cas, shared a quick glance, wondering where this was going.

“Yeah.”

“But you guys can tell right away that I’m not Sam.”

“Well, yeah.”

“But you can’t tell me that you haven’t almost accidentally called me Sam. I’ve seen you catch yourself a few times, Dean, and not just with my name. I’ve seen you look at me like Jensen does when we’re acting. When we’re playing Sam and Dean. I’ve even seen you look at me like Jensen does when we’re _not_ acting, when we’re just hanging out or whatever in real life. Because I’ve mistaken you for him half a dozen times today.” He turned to Cas then. “I see it with you and Misha, too.”

“So, what are you saying.”

Jared shrugged. “I don’t know. Just maybe some things run too deep, deep enough to carry across universes.”

At that moment, Lucifer himself could’ve tap danced across the table between them and Dean and Cas wouldn’t have noticed it. In the silence that followed Jared’s statement, they were each too busy wondering how much hope they’d be willing to hang on to based on an offhand comment made by an actor from an alternate reality. Jared forced himself not to break the tension he’d worked so hard to build up, but it was hard. He stole glimpses of both men from beneath his lashes to be sure they were applying his suggestion to their reflections.

Cas broke first, his eyes frequently darting to Dean and then back to the table in front of him, as if he had to reassure himself that yes, Dean was still there. Dean eventually caved in to his need to check on Cas, but at least he was being more straightforward about it now. Instead of stolen glances, he simply shifted in his seat so he could stare to his heart’s content. Jared again wondered if maybe he had less work to do than he originally thought.

Before any of them could say anything else, there was a knock on the door, and their lunch had arrived.

Gen had ordered each of them a steak, a beer, and a peach galette. When Dean lifted the lid off his plates and saw the meal, he groaned. “Oh my god, is that pie?” He looked up at Jared with wide-eyed delight. “Your wife got me pie? I told you she was a keeper, but I’d like to submit her name for sainthood.”

Jared laughed and agreed with Dean. It was a relief. He knew he could make these guys see the light, and he was starting to believe he wouldn’t need the high powered spotlights on Dean’s precious Impala to make them see it.


	10. Chapter 10

After lunch, they still had about half an hour to kill before their handlers were due to return. Jared thought it might be a good idea for Dean and Cas to watch at least the last few minutes of the season ten finale before going down to their panel. He’d realized that, while trying to answer fan questions, Dean and Cas needed to understand where their story last left off. If they started going on about stuff that’s happened in their lives since then, the audience would be more than a little confused. Let alone what the writers might have to say about the actors’ sudden and inexplicable knowledge of the scripts they wouldn’t even see until after they returned to work the following week. It only made sense for them to watch it, from a purely practical point of view.

From an impractical point of view, Jared thought they _deserved_ to see it. It was one of the defining moments of their lives, and he thought Jensen and Misha had portrayed it beautifully. He thought he wasn’t half bad himself, but he wasn’t there to be the main feature in this particular scene. He excused himself from the table while Dean was finishing his “fancy French pie,” as he called it, and went over to the couch to pull the episode up on his laptop.

When it was cued up to the right spot, Jared disconnected the earbuds, turned the volume up, and handed the laptop to Dean. He looked grim, as if he would rather do anything other than relive that day, but had resigned himself to the necessity. Cas looked more angelic than Jared had ever seen him in that moment. Not in a beatific and glowing guardian-angel-on-the-shoulder way, but in that breaks-down-doors-with-the-wrath-of-heaven, smites-demons-without-blinking sort of way. It sent a chill down his spine.

“Uh, so, yeah,” Jared cleared his throat as his guests settled themselves on the small sofa across from him. He’d just realized the extent of what he’d asked them to do. He suddenly felt a lot of sympathy for Chuck back in that episode where he’d written himself into his own story, confronted by his characters. It was one thing to think of what he did as a job where he portrayed an imaginary character, where everything his character did and said could be explained away as acting choices, or interpretation, or the script itself. For the men sitting across from him, it was their life. There was no second take to get a better camera angle, no redoing a scene because a special effects blood packet hadn’t burst when someone’s throat was sliced to remove his grace-- with the blue glowy light added later by the VFX people-- and no makeup artist standing ready with a washcloth to rub the Mark of Cain off between scenes while he, Misha, and Jensen made jokes about kissing their fake boo-boos to make them better.

This was a moment of truth for all of them.

“Let me know how much we got right.”

Without a word, Dean looked over at Cas, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Dean since they’d sat down. The scary Angel of the Lord, stare a hole through your soul gaze that had unsettled Jared seemed to have the opposite effect on Dean. He took a relieved breath, patted Cas’s knee, and hit play.

Neither man spoke as they watched the scene play out before them. Dean watched himself burst into the old warehouse where Rowena had been working on the Book of the Damned, while Charlie and Cas sat in the next room preparing ingredients for the spell. Sam stood and tried to defend their actions to Dean, apologizing for going behind his back but pleading with him to let them continue their research.

Cas stood off to the side, and it was obvious every time his face was on screen how agonizing it was for him to watch Dean try argue his way out of letting them help, obvious how much all he wanted was to have his friend back and free of the Mark.

Dean hadn’t wanted to let Sam or Cas defend their actions, and when he’d angrily yelled “ _Enough_!” Cas flinched. Watching from this perspective, sitting on a couch with his hand on Cas’s knee, that outburst had actually made _Dean_ flinch. Unshakable, fully powered up with his own grace, _Cas had flinched_. Dean realized he’d accidentally pressed the pause button on the recording and was just sitting there staring at his friend’s pained expression on the screen.

He turned to Cas and asked quietly, “Is that how it happened?”

Cas didn’t look away from his own face on the monitor, but bit at his lower lip, eyebrows scrunched up, breathing shallowly. He nodded once, slowly.

Dean replaced his hand on Cas’s knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. It seemed to help both of them remember that everything worked out in the end. They were both still there to watch this.

Dean hit play, and the camera angle changed so his face was on the screen. Or Jensen’s face pretending to be him, but it didn’t seem to matter. It was as good as his own face, and the words coming out were nearly the exact ones he’d said anyway, minus the cursing. It was eerie, but he forced himself to watch.

“I know how to remove the Mark.” He strode over to the table laid out with Rowena’s research and the Book of the Damned. “And the answer’s not in this book. I have no idea what she’s been working on, but it ain’t gonna end well.” He snatched the book off the table, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a familiar curved blade. He held the book up in his left hand, and without further explanation, stabbed it with Death’s sickle. There was a screeching sound effect that didn’t even come close to the screaming noise it had made in reality, and an explosion of orange light as the evil book crumbled to ash.

Dean turned from the wailing figure of Rowena as she desperately clawed at the pile of ashes, as if trying to rebuild the book. He held the sickle loosely at his side and marched toward Cas. Sam’s terrified protests could be heard off camera, but the screen was filled with Cas’s face, and a look that still haunted Dean to this day. A mixture of fear and heartbreak and resolve. In that moment, he'd truly believed that Dean was going to kill him.

And it hurt just as much to see it again.

The shot changed again, to Dean’s face, almost as broken and afraid as Cas had been, but for the first time in months there was a flicker of hope. Destroying the book had broken the first link in the chain that bound the Mark to him, and it showed in his eyes, in his posture, and in his voice that came out softer now.

“Cas, I know how to get rid of this damned tattoo, lock it away forever, but there’s a cost, and it ain’t gonna be a walk in the park.”

Charlie peeked around the doorway, silently watching their exchange. She was obviously afraid, but looked ready to fling herself between Dean and Cas to defend the angel. It warmed Dean’s heart to realize just how much she also cared about Cas, and really, about him too. She’d never say it out loud, but he was sure she understood that it would destroy Dean if he’d been responsible for hurting Cas while under the Mark’s influence.

The shot changed again, back to Cas and Dean. Cas gathered himself up and nodded resolutely. “Whatever you need, Dean. We will help. Are you sure your plan will work?”

Dean nodded, glancing to Charlie and Sam in turn. He held up the sickle and waggled it around for show. “I had a little chat with Death, and he loaned me this to get rid of the Book. It was one of the conditions I had to agree to before he’d help. Which reminds me…”

He closed his eyes and said a few words in Enochian, and the sickle disappeared. He blinked one eye open, and then the other, looking around to see if Death had shown up in person to reclaim his weapon. When it was obvious he hadn’t, Dean said out loud to the room in general, “Thanks buddy. There’s a cheeseburger and a side of pickle chips for you any time you wanna visit and have a laugh about old times.”

Sam moved up behind Dean, looking a little shellshocked. “What the hell, Dean? You summoned Death?”

Dean turned to him. “Yeah. It seemed less risky than trusting the witch.”

Sam made a series of annoyed, hurt, and finally accepting bitchfaces, and sighed. “So what’s the plan now? It’s not like we have a fallback anymore without the book.”

Dean nodded, visibly steeling himself and clenching his jaw. He looked back at Cas. His voice broke as he asked the unthinkable, the impossible. “How badly do you want this thing off my arm? Because what I’m asking is huge, and I have zero right to even ask this of you. I… I’d understand if you said no.”

It took everything he had to keep looking at Cas, to not turn away.

“I’d do anything, Dean. What do you need?”

“You don’t have to agree to this, Cas. I just need you to know that. Please. You don’t have to do this for me, but I still have to ask.”

“I understand, Dean.”

Dean shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle capped in silver at both ends. Cas recognized it for what it was, and stilled.

“Those little bottles that hold angel grace? Death gave me something similar. It’s not designed to hold grace, but the Mark’s power apparently works the same way.”

Cas nodded, beginning to understand Death’s plan. “And that vial will contain it after it’s been purged from your body.”

“Yeah.” Dean still hadn’t looked away from Cas.

Behind him, Sam spoke. “But Dean, how are you supposed to get it out of you and into the bottle?”

“A little heavenly cleansing.”

“What?” Sam asked.

Dean watched Cas grasp the entirety of the plan. A silent second passed while eons worth of conversation happened entirely in their eyes. Cas barely moved, it was a tic more than a nod, but Dean understood. He turned to Sam and said, “Grace.”

The scene cut away to a wide shot of the three of them, sitting alone in the room where Charlie had been working. She’d left to give them some privacy, and because Cas had warned her that if something went wrong with the spell he didn’t want her to be hurt by any unforeseen side effects. When she’d described her thoughts in that moment to Dean a week later, she’d referred to the “unforeseen side effects” Cas had described with an expansive hand gesture and the word BLAMMO. Dean understood why she didn’t choose to stick around. Despite all their warnings, Sam had refused to leave. Dean understood that, too.

Instead, it was Sam who now held the tiny, delicate bottle in one hand and the intricate silver cap in the other. He stood between Dean and Cas, each seated on a wooden crate facing one another, their knees almost touching.

Cas held his angel blade and stared at Dean as if it was the last chance he would ever get to do so. It was about the same way Dean stared back at him. Sam’s eyes were pinched shut, holding back tears he didn’t have time to shed yet. He asked, “So Cas’s grace will be enough to clean out every trace of the Mark?”

Dean shrugged. “If you wanna believe Death, then yeah.”

“And you’re sure it’s not gonna kill you,” Sam said, his voice thin with uncertainty.

Dean really looked at Sam then, fighting off tears of his own. “If it doesn’t work, I almost hope it does kill me.”

Sam winced, but he was resigned. He could accept that. He’d been in Dean’s place, and knew it was their only choice. “Okay then. Let’s hope it works.”

Dean turned back to Cas. “Last chance to say no, man. If we do this, your grace is gone for good. Do you really want to give it up that easily after everything you went through to get it back?”

“The only reason I wanted it was so that I would survive long enough to keep watch over you with the Mark, Dean. If you are going to be human again, then I don’t need it anymore.”

“You’re ready to throw your life away that easily?”

“I’m not throwing it away, Dean. I’m choosing a different life. A human life. It’s not so terrible. It’s what I want.”

Dean studied him, searching his face for any trace of a tell, any sign he wasn’t speaking the god’s honest truth. Cas opened himself up to the examination, the sense of peace his decision had brought to him, and the viscerally painful hope and longing he exuded hit Dean like a punch to the chest. Whatever weird senses the Mark gave him that allowed him to hear the book calling out to him also let him experience the full force of whatever grace-enhanced feelings Cas was pushing at him. The sensation didn’t last for more than a fraction of a second before Cas shut it down, leaving Dean wide-eyed and breathless.

“If you’re sure, if this is what you want, then let’s do it.”

“Are you ready, Dean?” Cas spun the blade in his hand and then held the hilt out towards Dean.

He hesitated for a heartbeat before reaching out and taking it, his fingertips brushing against Cas’s as they closed around the cold metal. Dean leaned forward as Cas tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck, while still refusing to turn his eyes from Dean. Dean pressed the tip of the blade to Cas’s throat and whispered, “Thank you, Castiel.”

Dean had mashed the pause button yet again. He’d been rubbing the tears out of his eyes before they could fall, while watching himself. He’d said thank you. _Thank you_. Of all the fucking moments to choke. He knew what he should’ve said, and sitting there watching it months later, he knew he should say it now. But he still couldn’t do it.

Beside him on the couch, Cas stirred just enough to clutch at Dean’s hand, still clamped tight to Cas’s knee. He pried Dean’s fingers up and laced them together with his own, pulling their joined hands into his lap and covering them with his other hand. He leaned into Dean’s side and whispered in a voice too low to carry, “I know, Dean. I know. It’s okay. I know.”

Dean flat-out refused to sob and bury his face in Cas’s shoulder. He couldn’t do this now. Instead he took a deep shuddering breath, squeezed Cas’s hand, and pressed play.

The blade in his hand cut a careful slice across Cas’s neck, as bluish-white rays of grace burst from the wound. Dean bent down, his left hand braced on Cas’s shoulder, and breathed in the first wisps of grace before they could leak away.

The trickle became a flood, the grace pushing its way down his throat. It looked so benign on screen, but on the couch Dean was reliving the blinding agony he’d felt as it seared its way through his body. Fire and ice burning him from the inside out. The Mark tried to fight it off, exerting itself against not only the grace within him, but trying to force its way out of him through the light and power that still connected him to Cas.

On screen, they both fell to the ground, screaming and clutching blindly at one another, both locked in a battle of sheer will against the power of the Mark. It hurt them both to watch it again, to see the pain on their faces, and the way they held on to each other in a desperate attempt to hold on _anything_.

On the couch, Dean and Cas had curled toward one another, their hands still clasped tightly together, their foreheads nearly touching from how far into each other’s space they had leaned for support.

On screen, Dean’s entire body began to glow with an angelic light, until the Mark flared to life on his arm. It burned bright red for an instant, before a blinding flash of light blew outward and engulfed the entire screen. When it cleared, Dean was lying on the floor, glowing with a softer light now, one hand still holding on to Cas’s shoulder even though they were both unconscious.

Sam lowered the arm he’d raised to protect his eyes from the blast and rushed over to Dean. He picked up the angel blade and sliced gently and carefully into his brother’s neck. He read the short Enochian spell that Dean had given him and raised the vial to the fresh wound. What flowed out was no longer the bright and shining grace of an angel, but a murky grey sludge. It took only a few seconds, and then Sam locked it away forever with the silver cap.

He glanced down at his brother’s arm to make sure the Mark was gone. Neither Dean nor Cas would wake up though, and the scene ended with him growing more and more desperate to rouse them, with no success.

The final shot of the show, however, was of Charlie, lying unconscious on the floor of the other room while Rowena collected the Codex and the other books on witchcraft, and then fled.

The screen went dark, but Dean and Cas didn’t move. He’d been trying to give them some space and not intrude on their viewing, but from where he sat, Jared would’ve sworn they’d fallen asleep if he couldn’t see the tremors that ran through them both. Their heads were bent together, eyes closed, as if they were praying, or maybe trying to will away the bad memories he’d just forced them to relive.

Jared gave them as much time as he could, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He wished he could just get up and leave the room, leave Dean and Castiel there to work everything out between them. If only he could. The best he could do for them was to remind them that they had survived. He cleared his throat.

Cas’s eyes snapped up in a glare before he realized where he was. He spotted Jared and blinked, settling back down like a ruffled bird smoothing out his feathers, his attention immediately returning to Dean.

He squeezed Dean’s hand, and then held on tighter when Dean tried to pull away. “No, please.”

Dean looked up at him, a question in his eyes. He obviously found whatever answer he’d been looking for and relaxed back against the couch, shoulder to shoulder with Cas. “Yeah, okay.”

“I hate to have to do this to you guys right now, but security will be here in about five minutes. I thought you might need a minute or two to freshen up, or whatever. I’m just gonna go brush my teeth and get ready to go down. Our panel starts in ten minutes, so if there’s any last minute questions, I’ll be right back.”

With that, Jared got up and went to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him, giving Dean and Cas as much privacy as he could.

They sat in silence for a few moments, just breathing. It was too much for them to deal with in the five minutes they had to gather their thoughts. In the Grand Winchester Tradition, Dean tried to pack it all away in a box that was just not big enough to hold it all anymore.

He remembered every second of that night, replayed it over and over again in his dreams. The searing agony, the battle of light and dark pulling him apart, the indescribable feeling of the Mark being ripped from his soul. In the midst of the chaos roaring through his body was the heartbreaking realization that Cas’s grace recognized him, that it didn’t simply seek to burn away the tendrils of the Mark where they’d taken root, but to heal and soothe the raw and wounded parts of Dean’s soul as it incinerated itself in one final act of sacrifice.

After months of dealing with his own experiences that night, it was a strange relief to see what had happened from a different perspective. He finally saw what Cas suffered through, since he’d been a little preoccupied at the time, and realized that the Mark had tried to escape its fate by transferring its power into Cas’s body as his grace flowed out. Knowing that Cas must’ve experienced firsthand the entire battle that raged through all three of them-- the Mark, Dean’s soul, and Cas’s grace-- gave him an entirely new outlook on what Cas must’ve been suffering through since that night. All this time, Dean thought he’d been struggling with the memories alone, but Cas… he’d been shouldering an equal burden, equally alone.

They sat on that couch, clinging to each other like a life raft in a churning ocean. Cas could see the flurry of thoughts behind Dean’s eyes, feel the tears running down his own cheeks as Dean connected all the pieces of what they had seen.

“Dean,” he said, voice raw with the struggle to choke down his emotions. “Dean, I would do it again. Exactly the same way. Everything. I would do it a thousand times if it meant I could sit here with you like this for even a moment. It was worth it.”

Dean nodded absently, unable to look away, in awe of the angel who sacrificed everything for him. It was too much. Too much to even scratch the surface of in the short time they had. He took a deep breath, pushing everything to the back of his mind for now. They would have to deal with it later, but right now they had a job to do.

He reached up to wipe the tears from Cas’s face with his thumb, and smiled. “I know, Cas.”

There was no way to say everything that was fighting its way through his mind in that moment, so he settled for the only thing they had time for. He slid his hand from Cas’s cheek around to the back of his neck and pulled him in for a hug. It was awkward with his other hand still tangled with Cas’s between them, and yet strangely intimate. Dean had no need to belittle the gesture with manly back patting or pushing away to cover how much the simple touch meant to him. Somehow, he just knew that Cas wouldn’t push him away. He still could only hope, now that a crack had formed in the dam that had held back his feelings all these years-- because it had been _years_ \-- that maybe, _maybe_ , the flood pouring out wouldn’t leave Cas drowned in its wake. Maybe it could wash away the walls they’d constructed between them.

With his head held against Dean’s shoulder, his face turned in toward Dean’s neck, Cas sighed, raising goosebumps along Dean’s skin. The tension and fear that had built up in his neck and shoulders melted away and he let himself soften as Dean’s arm slid from his neck to wind around his shoulders, pulling him closer. It was strange to him, a once-immortal being with power over life and death, that now he could draw such a feeling of safety and comfort from the arms of a creature that, once upon a time, he’d considered tiny and beneath his notice.

He’d watched humanity for millennia, but until he’d touched Dean’s soul in Hell, he’d never fully understood how these insignificant and flawed creatures could hold so much of their Father’s regard. Even then, while overwhelmed by the first sight of Dean’s soul shining so brightly after decades in Hell, he couldn’t fathom why his grace had latched on powerfully enough to permanently sear a piece of itself into this man’s soul, and claim a tiny fragment of Dean’s soul for its own in return.

Cas slowly pulled his right hand from the knot of fingers in his lap and reached up to grab Dean’s left shoulder. Even without his grace, his fingertips easily found the mark they’d left on Dean’s skin, the only scar he took with him from Hell.

As always, the gesture comforted them both. Dean pulled back so he could see Cas’s face, his hand sliding back to Cas’s neck to keep him from moving too far yet, while his thumb gently stroked the skin above his collar, over the tiny silvery scar that was practically identical to the one on his own neck. Cas’s tears were gone, replaced with a gleam of what Dean wanted to believe just might be hope. Much as he wanted to spend the day pondering that, Dean knew they had other responsibilities to deal with first.

Dean said quietly, “We should get cleaned up. Gotta look pretty for the fans, and all.”

Cas nodded, smiling back. “That would be wise.” He raised his hand from Dean’s shoulder to his face, prodding at the puffy, red-tinged skin below Dean’s eyes. “I’m glad we had a chance to see that first. Jared was right. It will help us answer a lot of questions.”

Dean squeezed Cas’s hand one last time and then stood up, pulling Cas to his feet. He’d heard the double meaning in Cas’s words and briefly wondered if Cas had actually intended to imply both interpretations. They would be better equipped to answer the audience’s questions, but Dean had a lot of his own questions answered at the same time. From the way Cas continued to look at him, as if he could still see Dean’s soul if he stared hard enough, Dean assumed he’d gotten a few answers of his own. He released Cas’s hand to give him a proper hug, drawing him in completely.

“It already has. Thank you, Cas, for everything.”

Cas hugged him back just as tightly and hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose it has.”

Their handlers knocked on the door and Jared emerged from his bedroom to answer it. When he saw the two of them still standing there, disheveled and raw, he shooed them off to freshen up. He waited until they’d returned to their own room to answer the door, making small talk with the handlers to give them a few extra minutes.

“Jensen and Misha are lucky to have such a good friend,” Cas said, as he and Dean took turns splashing cold water on their faces.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy. If we couldn’t have Sammy with us here, I’m glad we’ve got Jared watching our backs.”

They straightened each other’s collars, each approving the other’s appearance before leaving the bathroom. At the door to their bedroom, Dean met Cas’s eyes, reached down and took his hand. He held their hands up between them and squeezed.

“Let’s do this thing, yeah?”

Cas smiled, and squeezed Dean’s hand in turn. “Yeah.”


	11. Chapter 11

This time when they were led from the elevator the lobby was almost deserted. They could hear what sounded like Gabriel’s voice booming over the loudspeakers behind the closed doors to the hotel’s ballroom. From the sounds of it, he was whipping the crowd into a frenzy with a rousing introduction. Jared walked beside Dean within their little bubble of handlers, with a look that Dean interpreted as concerned anticipation. He’d seen a similar look on Sam that time he’d superglued Dean’s beer bottle to his hand, in the seconds before Dean had realized what he’d done. Right now, about to walk onstage to bluff his way through an hour of questions in front of hundreds of people, that look wasn’t particularly comforting.

The handlers led them through a door off to the side of the main ballroom, down a short service hallway and through an unused kitchen. Only a swinging door and a curtain now separated them from their fate. With a nod and a brief word of thanks, Jared dismissed the handlers to wherever it was they went when they weren’t escorting their charges around the building.

“Sounds like Richard’s got them pretty worked up out there, eh?” Jared said.

“Richard. That’s right,” Dean said. “At least it’s not actually Gabriel out there.”

“This is definitely less terrifying than the Japanese game show,” Cas added, warily eyeing the curtain through the little window in the kitchen door. “At least your genitalia are in no immediate danger.”

Jared snorted. Dean just stared wonderingly at the side of Cas’s face. “Did you really just say that?”

Cas turned, a wicked little smile tugging at his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes. He shrugged, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. Dean couldn’t hold back the laugh. He yanked Cas off balance by their joined hands, laughing harder when Cas toppled against his side.

Jared pushed against Dean’s other shoulder. It was both an acknowledgement of their new camaraderie and a subtle reminder that they couldn’t forget where they were, or what still needed to be done. Dean was relieved that Jared seemed more relaxed now. At least he was smiling happily, without the extra layer of dread weighing it down.

“If I recall correctly,” Jared added, “I was the one who suffered the most on Gabriel’s game show, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it again.”

Dean grinned at Jared and slung his free arm over his shoulders. “Never discount the psychological scars I suffered, man. That was the longest thirty seconds of my life, waiting for that thing to kick me in the nuts.”

Jared shook his head, amazed at how quickly Dean and Cas both had recovered from the shocked mess he’d left on that couch less than fifteen minutes earlier. That they were able joke about anything now, with the reminder of that night so fresh in their minds, impressed the hell out of him. It had taken him a week to recover from filming the scene they’d just relived before he felt even remotely like cracking jokes. It either said something about their strength of character, or maybe just something about just how shitty their lives had been, that they just pressed on ahead no matter what, carving out moments of joy wherever they could.

“Are you guys ready?” Jared asked, finally turning more serious.

Dean pulled Cas closer again. He was doing it so often now that it was becoming a reflex. “As ready as we’re gonna get.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road.”

With that, Jared pushed against the swinging kitchen door, meeting with resistance and a muffled squeak. The door pushed back against them, and Felicia poked her head in to the kitchen, grinning when she saw the happy smiles on everyone’s faces.

“I was just about to send out a search party.”

“We’re here now,” Dean replied. “You can call off the dogs.”

Felicia pushed the door the rest of the way open and waved them through into the ballroom. As he passed her, she tugged him to a stop by his sleeve and leaned in to whisper, “I would never send dogs after you, Dean. Howler monkeys, maybe. But not dogs.”

He leaned back, surprised, but then laughed again as Cas impatiently pushed him through the doorway.

***

Richard called them onstage one by one, starting with Jared. He grinned at Dean and Cas before disappearing through the curtain and out on to the stage to a roar of applause and cheering. When Richard introduced Jensen, Dean finally released Cas with one last reassuring squeeze and pushed through the curtain. Richard slapped him on the shoulder and nudged him toward the front of the stage, where four chairs had been set up in front of four microphones. Dean waved and smiled at the audience as they shouted and clapped. He made a silly little half bow-half curtsy, which drove the fans even wilder, before walking over to take the chair next to Jared’s. Jared reached over and high fived him as Richard announced Misha’s name.

Dean turned in his seat to watch Cas fight his way through the curtain. He had to chuckle to himself when he realized he was relieved Cas no longer had the ability to smite things, or that curtain surely would’ve been a goner. He finally emerged, slightly more rumpled than he'd been moments before, but he looked like he was riding the high of his victory over the curtain, and as a result his eyes shone happily as he took the stage.

For a moment Cas stood stunned, staring at Richard before pulling him into a quick hug. As Cas stepped back to wave at the cheering and laughing audience, Richard said into the microphone, “Yeah, good to see you too, buddy.”

Cas finally locked on to Dean, who patted the seat next to him, and he sat down just as Felicia was called up onstage. She did a dainty little pirouette and curtsied gracefully before leaping into Cas’s arms. He hugged her for just a moment, taking a small bit of comfort from the gesture before standing up and gently depositing her in the chair next to his.

They all smiled at each other and the audience until the cheering finally died away when Jared spoke into his microphone.

“Hi there, everyone! It’s really great to be here.”

More cheering.

More settling down.

He thanked everyone in the audience, and talked for a few minutes about how great it was to be at a new convention in a new city. Felicia interrupted to correct him, that it was in fact an entirely new country.

“How many of you have been to conventions in other cities?” Jared asked.

“Other countries, you mean?” Felicia corrected, again, with a wry grin.

A few people in the audience raised their hands.

“That’s pretty impressive,” Felicia continued.

“For the rest of you,” Jared picked up again, “I hope you’re enjoying the experience every bit as much as you hoped.”

More cheering.

More settling down.

Dean and Cas sat there trying their best not to freak out. It was a little like being that one kindergartner on stage at the holiday concert that can’t remember any of the words they’re supposed to be singing, so they just stare blankly out at the audience. But they were grownups, and this didn’t count as a childhood trauma, as Charlie would’ve called it.

During one of the early rounds of cheering, Dean leaned over, putting his hand on Cas’s shoulder and holding his microphone as far away from their faces as he could so it wouldn’t pick up anything he was about to say.

“You holding up okay there?”

Cas nodded and replied, “As well as can be expected. You?”

At that point, the cheers faded into a generalized “ _Aawww_ ,” as the audience noticed them leaning together, foreheads nearly touching, talking quietly together. Dean froze for a fraction of a second, but then he remembered that every last person out there cooing over their apparently adorable behavior believed they were Jensen and Misha, the happily married and not particularly shy couple. It was a freeing realization. He wasn’t just allowed to touch Cas, he was _encouraged_ to. With Cas’s full consent.

Instead of pulling away, he leaned back in to whisper in Cas’s ear. “I’m doing great. I think I’m getting the hang of this now.”

Before moving away, while his face was still hidden from the audience behind Cas’s, he pressed his lips to Cas’s cheek just in front of his ear. He held it just long enough for Cas to know it was intentional, that it was a _kiss_ and not just an accidental nudge as Dean shifted back into his own seat.

The look on Cas’s face when he pulled back was worth suffering through a thousand questions from the audience for. His hair was still ruffled from vanquishing the curtain, but his eyes practically glowed under the bright stage lights. His lips parted slightly, either in surprise or ready to ask a question that refused to come out. Dean just smiled and shook his head, mouthing “later” as the crowd quieted once again.

Then the questions began.

The first question was addressed to Felicia, asking if they were finally going to make her a regular on the show for the new season.

“Well, filming for season eleven starts in just over a week, and I sadly still don’t have a plane ticket to Vancouver. But little Hollywood secret here? Through the magic of television, I’ll be in at least the season premiere episode, guaranteed. Next question!”

Jared laughed, and said, “So you’re just gonna drop that on them and run?”

“I have been sworn to secrecy, my friend. That’s also part of the magic of television.”

Dean and Cas laughed along with them. Of course they knew Charlie had been fine after Sam hauled them all back to the bunker to recover, but the audience couldn’t know that yet. Not even Jared and Felicia had been given the scripts for the season premiere yet, but in the elevator ride down to the panel, Jared had explained how they’d filmed the first few scenes of the season premiere immediately after the season finale ended, while they were all still in full makeup and lying on the floor. Something about continuity, and authenticity, and blah blah blah. Dean got it. Once they were carted off and cleaned up, all those scenes that came after could be filmed later. It made sense.

The next question was addressed to all four of them, wondering about the differences they saw between themselves and the characters they played.

“Now this is the kind of question that will terrify an actor,” Jared said.

“Or a character,” Dean replied with a devilish grin. He was clearly having too much fun, and Cas elbowed him in the side. “What? It’s true!” Dean argued when Cas shot him a dubious look.

Jared laughed again. “I guess I’ll go first. As far as me and Sam? I think we’re a lot alike in some ways. We both have a passion for learning, and we really take other people’s problems to heart. But in some ways, we are totally different. I think Sam would have an aneurysm if he saw the kind of diet I’ve been shoving into his body all these years while he’s been religiously choking down salads.”

It was Dean’s turn to laugh, as he got into the spirit of the question. “Yeah, and I think you’ve got a much better sense of timing than Sam does, and you’re at least apologetic about it when you interrupt people. You’re not quite as much of a moose as Sam is.”

The whole audience laughed.

“But I am still pretty damn moosey, right?”

Cas was finally loosening up enough to get in on the fun, too. He stood up from his chair and ran around behind Jared, tucking his microphone under one arm as he raised both outstretched hands on either side of Jared’s head like a set of antlers, exactly how he’d seen Charlie pose behind Sam the last time they’d all gotten together for dinner and a movie at the bunker. It had made Dean laugh then, and Cas figured it would earn a similar reaction now.

Dean answered, “Yeah, definitely a little moosey,” and grinned at Cas like he’d just been told he’d won the lottery. He sort of felt like he had.

Jared went on though, and Dean had to tear his eyes from Cas as he jogged back around to his seat.

“But Dean and Jensen have the opposite problem with food that I do. Dean would definitely cry about Jensen’s diet.”

“He’d probably say it’s seriously lacking in pie,” Dean said, after Jared had teased him about the pie at lunch. “And fun.”

“No, but seriously,” Jared continued. “I think Dean and Jensen definitely have a lot in common. I mean, they’d both give you the shirt off their back if you were in need. They both get kind of uncomfortable about accepting compliments and thanks. And they both have an adorable guardian angel, am I right?” Jared said, turning to the audience and raising his hand to encourage them to cheer. Hey, anything to help his three-day-plan of getting these guys to see what was right in front of them was fair game in his book.

The small sock-monkey-hatted, kale-waving contingent could be heard chanting MISHA MISHA MISHA again.

Dean glanced over at Cas and hoped his blush wasn’t too obvious. He was betting Cas could see it. The stage lights were bright enough for him to see a hint of pink on Cas’s cheeks, but it might just be a little warm up on stage. Cas was still smiling at him though. He realized they were just sitting there looking at one another, when there was surely something they were supposed to be doing. Oh, right. Answering the question.

“Speaking of Misha,” Dean said, staring at Cas and remembering something Felicia had told them that morning after spending a few minutes in Cas’s presence, “I think Cas is just a super-concentrated form of Misha.”

Felicia perked up at the line, remembering what she’d said. “I just told you guys that this morning! Cas is just better at containing himself than Misha is. He’s had about five billion years to get all that under control.” She waved her hand at Cas, who was fighting not to laugh at her and losing the battle.

“Charlie and Felicia, though,” Jared interrupted again, “They’re an awful lot alike.”

Cas agreed, speaking into his microphone for the first time. “It’s true. They both speak their mind and have a genuine enthusiasm for life. It’s rather inspiring.”

Felicia blushed and just blinked at Cas for a minute. “I’m gonna hug you again now.” And then she did.

The audience replied with another chorus of  _aawww._

Jared let them have the moment and then added, “And they’re both awesome, and geeky, and it’s like they bring their own light with them wherever they go.”

Felicia was still visibly pink when she raised her microphone and shouted, “Okay next question now please!”

A little boy, maybe seven or eight years old, shyly approached the microphone and asked in a shaky voice, “What would you do if you had a monster under your bed, and nobody believed you?”

Dean had still been grinning at Cas and Felicia’s antics, but the second he saw the look of fear on that little boy’s face, he went right into hunter mode. There might not be any real monsters in this particular universe, but something had frightened this child, and that was something Dean could relate to. If nothing else, he could acknowledge the boy’s fears instead of dismissing them, as other adults in his life apparently had.

“Well, it depends on what kind of monster it is, you know?”

The little boy nodded, eyes widening in wonder that this guy he’d watched defeat monsters on tv took his question seriously.

“Some monsters are cool, and just need a place to hang out. Maybe he likes you and he’s there to keep you safe from the unfriendly monsters. Like your own personal dragon guarding your room like a castle. You know, since moats really aren’t a thing anymore, the monsters who used to live in moats guarding castles have to hang out under comfortable beds now instead.”

The audience responded with a mixture of low-level aww-ing and a few chuckles, and Dean shot them a knowing grin before going on. ”So if it’s that kind of monster, you might want to give him a pillow or a pair of socks or something to keep him warm and cozy.”

Dean caught Cas’s eye at that point and had to do a double-take. Cas was looking at him adoringly, as if he’d done something uniquely admirable, like he could maybe still catch a glimpse of Dean’s soul shining out the corners of his eyes if he just focused hard enough. He felt his cheeks heat, and knew he was turning pink again under Cas’s regard. He had to force himself to look away, because if he took the time to process Cas’s reaction, he’d be reduced to incoherency. Or his face might spontaneously combust.

The little boy was still at the microphone, and he looked a lot less worried than he had before. Dean’s answer had apparently gone a long way toward comforting him. “And if it’s not a friendly monster?”

It was Jared who chimed in with an answer this time. “The easiest way to tell if a monster is friendly or not is to get a spray bottle, put a little bit of salt in the bottom, and then fill it up with water. Just squirt the monster with it a few times. If it’s a good monster, the salt won’t hurt it. But if it’s a bad monster, it’ll run away crying, and then you’ll know for sure.”

The kid beamed, thrilled to finally have the power within himself to conquer his fears. Dean confirmed Jared’s answer with, “What he said,” and a thumb hooked over his shoulder at Jared

As the boy skipped away from the microphone with a huge grin on his face, Cas leaned into Dean’s shoulder and whispered, “I no longer wish to complain to Rhiannon about her choice of this universe as our vacation destination.”

They grinned at each other, feeling much more confident and content, and settled in for the next question.

“You mentioned you’re going back to work on season eleven next week, but what have you been doing during your vacation?” the next woman in line asked.

“Europe, mostly,” Jared said, with a cheeky wink that left the questioner fleeing from the microphone with her face buried in her hands. “No, but seriously, we’ve been over here for several weeks now, and we’re having a great time. Gen and I had a chance to hang out with family back in Texas for a month or so, and that was fantastic, but now I’m just really excited to get back to Vancouver and start making more Supernatural. It’s weird, but I miss the crew during hiatus about as much as I miss my family while I’m working. I guess I’m lucky. I have three families, including all of you, the Supernatural Family.”

Another round of delighted cooing from the audience left Jared flushed about as red as Dean had been after Cas’s appraisal of his last answer, which Dean thought was only fair. He clapped Jared on the shoulder in solidarity before trying to answer the question from the scraps of information Gen and Felicia had given him that morning. He had his mouth open to answer before he caught himself about to say _Cas_ and remembered at the last second to say _Misha_ instead.

“Misha and I spent most of the hiatus working on the house, which you probably know if you follow Misha on twitter.”

More chants of MISHA MISHA MISHA erupted, and Dean gladly took it as an excuse to let his answer stand as it was. Felicia had showed them Jensen and Misha’s twitter pages, and he’d been rendered speechless, not only because they had millions of followers, but because of how much of their lives they were willing to share with their fans. Misha’s twitter was filled with pictures of him and Jensen working on the finishing touches of their new house and settling in. It had been a surreal experience, scrolling through photos of these men who were exact copies of him and Cas, but living this normal and happy life together. Dean had wanted for Cas to experience some of the better things humanity had to offer, but seeing those pictures made the desire burn a thousand times hotter.

Cas took the chanting as his cue to speak. Dean sat back and watched him, amazed at how comfortable he seemed in front of the crowd. “Aside from nesting, we’ve been finalizing the GISHWHES item list. Which is top secret. I’ve probably already said too much.”

There was shouting from the audience now, a clamoring of several people begging for a few hints, and one swearing fealty to their overlord. Cas looked out at the audience, amazed, and then turned to Dean. He knew Cas remembered every last detail he’d learned about Misha, and was confident he could pull this off. Dean just grinned at him and shrugged, like, what are you gonna do? Just throw them a bone.

Cas turned back to the audience and raised one hand calling for quiet. They settled immediately, much to Dean’s amusement. “I don’t want to give you an unfair advantage over the gishers who aren’t here today, but it might be prudent to brush up on your knowledge of macrame and stock up on toilet paper. Which you should do anyway, really.”

He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and directed a smug little grin at Felicia, who was laughing too hard to take her turn answering the question. Dean and Jared watched with fond amusement, until Jared asked for the next question.

The next question was for Felicia, about another project she had worked on. The question after that was about working on set, and the various antics they were known to get up to in their down time between filming. Jared handled it with a long story about their ongoing prank wars, sparing Dean and Cas from having to say too much. All they had to do was laugh at the right moments and make general remarks agreeing with Jared. That left time for one final question before the panel was scheduled to end.

“What do you think Sam, Dean, Cas, and Charlie would think if they could come to a convention like this one, and saw firsthand how much we love and appreciate them?”

Everyone on stage froze.

Jared stared at the woman who asked the question for a second, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, until he finally huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I think Sam would be speechless. I mean, he’s this incredibly selfless guy. How many times has he personally taken it upon himself to save the world, now? And he never expects anything in return. He dragged Lucifer into the pit. He was ready to sacrifice himself to slam the Gates of Hell. He’s spent the last year just trying to save the planet from his own brother, while trying to save Dean from himself. But none of that seems extraordinary to Sam. I think he feels responsible for needing to do most of it in the first place, going all the way back to when he was six months old and a demon bled in his mouth. He lives with this burdening him every day, but he does his best to make the most of his life and try to make up for his mistakes. Hardly anyone ever thanks him for it, or tells him he’s doing good. Knowing all of you are out there, supporting him and cheering him on? Like, literally, he wouldn’t believe it at all, but it would touch his heart. I’m sure of it.”

Jared turned to Dean, smiling a little nervously, like he had no idea how one of the _actual characters_ was about to answer the question, and he was struggling to wrap his mind around the entire situation. And then he realized he’d just made a huge assumption about Dean’s brother and stated it as a fact. There was a hint of panic about him as he met Dean’s eyes, that maybe he wouldn’t agree with Jared’s assessment of his brother. Dean looked back a little wide-eyed, trying to blink back his feelings and swallow down everything Jared had said. Dean took a deep breath, then nodded and smiled reassuringly, putting Jared’s fears to rest before answering the question.

“I think Dean would sort of hate the attention at first, but then he’d look around and really see the way he’s touched so many lives, and he’d just be in awe of every one of you.” Dean tried to look directly at as many members of the audience as he could, hoping that they could see how sincere he was.

Cas answered next. “I believe Castiel would be perplexed. He wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to make of any of this. And he’d be entirely bemused by how much everyone seems to care about him.”

The kale contingent switched their chant up to CASTIEL CASTIEL CASTIEL, and Cas was so overcome he had to stare down at his own hands, fiddling with the microphone in his lap until he could compose himself again.

Dean took the opportunity to lean against Cas, reaching one arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a half-hug. He was tempted to whisper something supportive and encouraging, but everything that came to him in that moment would’ve been too much to say while they were still in public. He settled for the hug while a litany of terrifying and dangerous words rattled through his head, recklessly close to his tongue. Felicia spoke up, saving him from blurting out everything he’d been tempted to say in the heat of the moment.

“I think Charlie would be torn between wanting to sit up here and tell you everything she knows about the Supernatural universe, and wanting to sit out there with all of you and just be a fan. She’d love every bit of this, from beginning to end.”

She glanced over at Dean for confirmation of that, and he nodded once in approval. It was only then, finally distracted from Cas, that Dean realized Jared had disappeared from the seat beside him. He craned his neck around, still holding on to Cas’s shoulders, and spotted Jared chatting with Richard at the back of the stage. Their discussion didn’t last long, but finished with Jared clapping a hand to Richard’s back and both men grinning as Jared returned to his seat.

Richard came forward, microphone in hand, looking a little too Gabriel-ish for Dean’s comfort.

“There you have it, guys. Let’s hear it for Team Free Will!”

He let the audience respond with a lot of whistling and cheering, while the four of them stood up and took a bow, waving at their fans. Directly in front of the stage, four men were setting up a long table, and arranging four chairs along its length, spaced about three feet apart. At each chair, one of the men set an assortment of markers and a bottle of water.

“They’ll be signing autographs in just a minute here, so don’t go running off yet. I’ve also been informed that there’s gonna be a little change in programming for tomorrow, and I can’t wait to see this with my own eyes, so you’ll probably enjoy it, too. Jensen and Misha thought it might be fun to do their panel tomorrow in character. So all those thoughtful questions you’ve been saving up for Jen and Mish? Chuck ‘em. ‘Cause they’re a couple’a jerks who can’t be bothered to show up to their own panel. Cas and Dean will graciously pick up their slack, so you have about,” Richard thoughtfully examined his watch. “About twenty six hours to think up some new questions.”

From the sounds of excited murmuring filling the hall, it seemed like the fans were already coming up with questions for Dean and Cas. The men in question stood on the stage surveying the crowd, periodically catching someone grinning up at them before resuming whatever discussions they were having with their friends. It was almost a relief when several large screens were brought in, blocking the view of the audience from the table where they were about to sign autographs.

With the screens in place, their handlers returned with reinforcements and led them down to the table. The next hour passed in a blur of smiling fans. They had a minute or two to talk with some of the people who had a story for them, which was actually a small relief between signing their names again and again and again on all sorts of things, from photos to figurines of themselves, to some truly incredible art made by the fans.

By the end, Dean had taken to using his ice cold water bottle as a makeshift compress to soothe his sore hand, and Cas looked about ready to faint from the number of people who’d professed their love for him. And not just for Misha, the actor, but for _Castiel_. Several people had broken down crying while telling him how moved they’d been by his sacrifice in the season finale, and many more expressed concern for both Cas and Dean, and the state they’d been in at the end of the episode.

He and Dean both had to fight the urge to blurt out reassurances, since they’d been warned by Jared not to say anything specific about what’s happened to them in the months since the show went on hiatus. The best they could offer their emotionally affected fans was the reminder that shooting would begin again in just over a week, and they’d see more of Cas and Dean soon.

When the last person had made their way through the line and the ballroom had been cleared, Cas sat there dazed. Without a word, Dean stood and put a hand on Cas’s shoulder, squeezing it gently to get his attention. When Cas looked up at him, Dean smiled, reached down, and grabbed his hand.

Instead of pushing their way through the crowd milling around outside the empty ballroom, they were led to a service elevator on the other side of the kitchens. It only took them up one floor, where they had to switch over to the main elevators, but the mezzanine was deserted compared to the packed convention floor below. Jared convinced their handlers to leave them for the evening, so the three of them rode back to their floor alone.

There on the elevator, with no one to put a show on for and no one to impress, Dean dropped Cas’s hand in favor of wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close. Cas wordlessly took every ounce of comfort Dean was offering, and returned the gesture with an arm slung across Dean’s back. Incrementally, Cas leaned in closer until his head rested on Dean’s shoulder. Dean raised his other hand to Cas’s arm. By the time they’d reached their floor, what had started out as a grounding touch had evolved into a full-blown hug.

Jared cleared his throat, and Dean realized he was holding the door open for them despite its having tried to close several times already.

Dean dropped one arm from Cas, but still held on tightly with the other. “Come on, time to go, we’re almost there,” he murmured as he shuffled Cas off the elevator.

Jared had already moved down the hall to unlock their door, and Dean appreciated that he was trying to give them some space. Once inside the room, Jared went straight to his bedroom and returned a moment later with Gen.

“We were gonna invite you guys out to dinner with us, but we’d totally understand it if you’d rather stay here tonight.”

Cas blinked at Dean a few times, and Dean got it. “Yeah, I think we need some quiet time after today. But thanks. You guys go have some fun for us.”

Without another word, Gen handed Dean the room service menu, and she and Jared left for a night on the town.

Dean led Cas over to the couch and they collapsed into the cushions together. Dean dropped the menu on his lap and used his free hand to rub his eyes. It had been an overwhelming, emotional roller coaster of a day.

“I know you wanted to show me around Paris, but....”

“I’ll be happy to show you anything you wish, Dean, but yes. I think we have much to discuss tonight.”

“That sounds like the understatement of the century,” Dean replied, letting his hand drop away so he could look at Cas. It landed on the menu in his lap and he held it up, grateful to be able to delay their conversation for at least a few minutes more. “I’ll order us up some dinner, and then we can…”

“Talk. Yes.”

Cas finished the sentence that Dean had failed to. They both knew they couldn’t ignore everything piled up between them any longer, but the wall wouldn’t crumble that easily. At least they were both finally standing there willing to pull it down, together.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was relieved to find the room service menu included a cheeseburger and fries. He had no idea what made it _gourmet_ , according to the menu, or why it cost fifty Euros ( _Euros? How much is that in dollars?_ ), but he figured it was worth finding out. It wasn’t his money. He ordered two cheeseburgers, a couple of beers for each of them, and the dessert of the day. France was known for their desserts, and he figured he couldn’t go wrong with any dessert that cost more than thirty bucks, no matter what it turned out to be.

While they waited for their food, they related their experiences during the autograph session. Dean had been bowled over by a man who’d been inspired by Dean confessing his fears that he might never get to experience the things, the people, the feelings he wanted to. If Dean could admit that he wanted something more out of life than he’d always convinced himself he deserved, then certainly he could, too. He was just grateful to have learned the lesson without having to go through what Dean did.

Cas had been equally impressed by a young girl who decided to leave her small hometown to attend college in Paris. She’d been afraid of leaving her comfortable little community, but Castiel’s struggles to find a place to fit in, to discover what he truly wanted in life, had made up her mind. If he could leave Heaven and find a place on Earth to call home, then she could surely find her own way in the big city. She was now one year from graduation and had met the love of her life in one of her classes. She’d thanked him profusely until she was finally led away to keep the line moving.

“It seems like maybe we aren’t such terrible role models after all,” Dean said, still not quite believing that the last few hours had really happened.

“I believe I’ve told you that before, Dean.”

“Yeah, but that was just you saying it.”

Cas leaned back from where he’d rested his head against Dean’s shoulder so that he could glare at Dean’s face properly.

Dean backtracked under his scrutiny. “Whoa, I only meant you’re the only person who’d said it before, not that it didn’t mean anything. It’s just harder to brush it off when you’ve got a couple hundred strangers saying it over and over again.”

Cas kept glaring. “You should’ve believed me, then.”

“I still doubt it, and I’ve spent most of the day getting knocked over the fucking head with it.”

Cas sighed and let his head fall back against Dean’s arm. “After all of the terrible things I’ve done, all the mistakes I’ve made, all of those people we met today only seem to care about the good things I’ve done. I might never be able to forgive myself, but it’s comforting to know that there are people in this reality who have not only forgiven me, but who have put their faith in me, even if they believe I am a fictional character. Is that strange?”

Dean felt a hard knot forming in his throat. He’d been hoping to save the heavier parts of their conversation until after they ate, but he had to at least address this. Cas absolutely deserved to know.

“I’ve forgiven you, Cas, for everything. And you know I put my faith in you, right? I trust you completely.” Dean took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

He half expected Cas to push him away again, to tell him he’d put his faith in the wrong place. Instead, Cas relaxed against him, and slowly slid his hand from his own knee over to Dean’s.

“I know.”

They sat quietly for a moment, neither really knowing what to say next despite a million thoughts tumbling through their heads. The rising need to say _something_ was relieved by a knock on the door and the arrival of their dinner.

For the most part, their meal was a quiet affair. It turned out that a fifty dollar cheeseburger was a damn fine thing. The next ten minutes were spent in ardent admiration of that fact. They’d also been pleased to discover that the dessert of the day was a towering raspberry cheesecake that was arranged on the plate like a work of modern art, overflowing with fresh berries, what looked like candied rose petals, and chocolate squiggles. Dean wasn’t even disappointed that it couldn’t technically be called a pie.

When they were done, Dean set the tray with their empty plates out in the hall and then just stood by the door. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet, but he felt like he’d been awake for days. The way Cas was sitting at the table, slouched down in his chair, looking at his folded arms on the table in front of him as if considering whether or not they’d make a sufficient pillow to rest his head on, reminded him that he wasn’t the only one who’d been thrown off balance by the day’s events.

All at once, the craziness of the convention fell away and all he could think about was the episode Jared had insisted they watch. As per his usual, Dean had spent most of his time since he’d dragged himself out of bed after recovering from the events of that day trying to forget it ever happened. He’d only ever focused on what he could remember about the day he was cured of the Mark, because after a certain point, his memories had been understandably muddled. For the first time, he was able to look at it from another angle, literally.

Seeing Charlie’s reaction to him rushing toward Cas, her terrified determination in the face of what must’ve seemed to her like Cas’s imminent death at Dean’s hands, had been bad enough the first time around. Now that he could see it clearly,--without the distraction of all the evil shit the Mark was screaming into his head and the single-minded focus he’d needed to ignore its call in order to complete Death’s ritual to remove it-- he could really appreciate how much Charlie cared for all of them. It was one of the bravest things he’d ever witnessed, and he really needed to thank her properly.

He remembered the moment when Sam relented, agreeing to help even if it meant Dean might not survive the cure. As far as they knew at the time, there was a fair to middling chance he wouldn’t. It was the only possible road they had left though, and Sam had finally understood and agreed to drive it with him, regardless of where they ended up. Sam had done everything Dean asked and trusted that everything would turn out for the best, whatever that might be. The fact he’d ended up having to play nursemaid to two of the grumpiest assholes on the planet for the next five days didn’t seem like a fair repayment of that trust. Not for the first time that day, Dean was feeling sort of disappointed that Sam wasn’t there to experience the fandom love-fest for himself. He swore to himself that he’d make it up to Sam when they got back.

And then there was Cas. Without a second’s hesitation, he’d agreed to rip out his grace yet again, to let it be permanently destroyed with no hope of ever being an angel again. He’d spent nearly two years struggling to get it back, eking out an existence on stolen grace that left him weak and sick, which had come dangerously close to burning him out of existence entirely on several occasions. He’d put off searching for his grace because Dean had asked for his help dealing with the Mark, and he’d only found it a week or two before Dean asked for his help again. Because Dean had needed it, Cas handed it over without question.

That day, Dean had been too busy writhing in agony, feeling as if molten lead were being poured through his veins, to notice that the Mark had come dangerously close to escaping from his body, fighting its way past the inferno of grace in an attempt to force itself into Cas’s newly human body. Dean had thought he’d imagined wrestling the Mark’s power back into himself, thought it was a trick of his mind trying to make sense of the battle raging within him. He’d also thought Cas was simply taking time to adapt to being human again during his recovery in the days after giving up his grace. Dean had never realized he was also recovering from a close brush with the Mark’s power. No, fuck that. It had been an assault. All this time, Cas had never said a single word about it to him.

Then there was that moment that hadn’t really translated to the screen, the moment he’d felt Cas’s grace reach out to him before they’d even begun the ritual. On screen, it had been portrayed with one of Cas’s patented Angel Stares, and a look of surprised acceptance on his own face, with nothing on the soundtrack but a piercing whistle to break the silence. There was a growing list of things he was sure Cas purposefully hadn’t mentioned to him. It might even be as long as the list of things he should’ve really told Cas.

Dean gathered up his courage and returned to his seat at the table. There was no more delaying. It was time to talk.

Cas didn’t move when Dean sat next to him. He was still hunched over his folded arms, absently picking at the cuff of his sleeve. Dean had sat facing Cas, elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward into the edges of Cas’s personal space. He smiled a little when the thought crossed his mind, but he still had no idea where to start this conversation.

Cas did.

“You kissed me,” Cas said, still not looking at Dean.

Dean resisted the sudden urge to sit back and put a little more space between them. He’d been determined to lay everything out at long last, but he figured they’d start somewhere closer to the beginning, instead of jumping straight to the end. Then again, they were going to hash this out for better or worse, and he was done making excuses and brushing off the truth. That didn’t mean he wasn’t worried he’d overstepped his boundaries. He kept his eyes on Cas, looking for any hint of what the other man was thinking.

“On stage,” Cas clarified, when Dean failed to reply. He finally turned to face Dean, unfolding his arms and twisting in his chair so their knees were nearly touching. “You kissed my cheek.”

Dean nodded slowly. “I did.”

Cas studied him, head tilting to the side as if shifting the angle of observation would provide him new information. “Why?”

“Why did I kiss you?” Dean shook his head, forcing down the urge to laugh. “Man, I thought we were gonna talk about the fucking video Jared showed us. Two months I’ve been trying to sort through all the shit that happened that day. And the first thing you want to know is why I kissed you.”

“It’s… important to me,” Cas said, his face displaying a little of the nervous tension that had inspired Dean to kiss him in the first place. “I’d like to know.”

Dean was tempted to lean in and kiss him again. It had worked before, after all. But Cas deserved to know the truth first. “You looked about as lost as I felt, sitting up there wondering what the hell we’d gotten ourselves into this time. And then all those people awwing at us, thinking we were these two other guys...”

Cas interrupted Dean’s hesitant explanation, carefully wording his reply. “So you were just giving the audience what they expected to see?”

“No,” Dean confessed. “I only kissed you when I was pretty damn sure nobody could see what I was doing.”

“I don’t understand. Were we not supposed to be pretending to be a happily married couple on stage?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we were, Cas. All the touching, holding hands, and everything, that was enough to satisfy the public. The kiss was just for you.”

“But… _why_   then?”

“Because I wanted to, and I could.” Dean shrugged. He didn’t really have a better explanation than that. Or at least not one that didn’t immediately devolve into conversation-ending confessions. He was still working himself up to that. “I almost kissed you again, after you answered that last question.”

“You did?” Cas recalled the question, and his answer. He’d been overwhelmed by how many people cared about him, and how many lives he’d touched in a universe where he only existed as a character on a television show. He’d also been overwhelmed when Dean pulled him close after he’d expressed that sentiment on stage. He hadn’t said anything, but Cas felt the warmth and comfort Dean couldn’t express in words from the simple gesture.

Dean smiled. “Came damn close to saying about a million stupid, sappy things, too.”

Cas just stared for a second. “But you didn’t.”

“Some things aren’t meant for an audience, Cas.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Dean took a deep breath. It was now or never. No matter how Cas reacted, he at least needed to know the truth. They didn’t have an audience now, after all. “I care about you, too, Cas. There’s pretty much no one I care about more. And I know I suck at showing it, but fuck, you just seemed so surprised that anyone liked you, and it hurt. After everything you’ve done for me, and for the whole damn world, you deserve to know how much you’re loved.”

He’d been on a roll, and dammit, he realized what he said about two seconds too late to quit while he was ahead. Panic fluttered through his chest as Cas’s eyes widened.

“I would do it all again, Dean, without hesitation. I… tried to show you, before I gave up my grace. I wasn’t sure how much you remembered from that day, or if you were able to feel me reaching out to you at all while the Mark was still bound to your soul.”

“I felt it.” Dean snorted out a little laugh, and leaned even closer. “I actually thought the Mark was the only reason I could feel it at all.”

Cas smiled and shook his head. “No, Dean. You could feel it through the part of my grace that claimed your soul in Hell. My mark was there first. I’m not sure, but I like to think that the Mark of Cain would never have completely been able to consume your soul, because at least a small part of it had already been irrevocably claimed.”

Dean gaped at him. It had been a long time since he’d thought about what Cas’s handprint on his shoulder meant. It wasn’t just a superficial burn. He knew it went straight through to his soul. Cas didn’t let him dwell on it too long though. He had more to say.

“I believe that’s also why the cure worked. You were able to take in my grace, because you’ve actually been carrying around a piece of it for years. It… recognized you, I suppose you could say. When I opened up to you before the ritual, I wanted you to understand that this was my choice. I always wanted to come back to you, and I finally had the means to do so. There was never even a question, not a moment of doubt, that I would gladly give up my grace to save you.”

He leaned forward, just as Dean had, resting his elbows on his knees and abandoning any notion of personal space. With Cas’s face just a few inches from his own, Dean could read the truth of his statement in his eyes. He let Cas’s words sink into his bones and settle there, soothing a little of the guilt he’d felt about being responsible for Cas’s final fall from Heaven.

“So what I felt then, the hopefulness, and… whatever. That wasn’t about saving everyone else from me, and you not having to watch me murder the world.”

Cas smiled. “That was a nice side benefit, but no.”

Dean sighed, but didn’t move away. “So what was the main benefit?”

Cas took a moment to consider the best way to put it into inarguable and explicit words that Dean couldn’t rationalize away. “Ever since the Apocalypse, every time I’ve tried to resume my duties in Heaven, it’s gone terribly wrong. Every time I tried to leave you, it was always with the intent that you would finally be able to find peace and happiness without my burdens on your shoulders, and in the end I’d only burdened you more. Once I’d become an angel again, I came to realize what a gift my humanity had been. Even when I found my own grace, it still didn’t feel right, but I was willing to keep it if it meant I wouldn’t have to abandon you again. I wouldn’t have to leave you to suffer an eternity with the Mark alone. I had no intention of ever leaving you again, and in giving up my grace so that we could both be human, I could only hope that you would understand.”

Cas’s voice had grown quiet, and Dean’s voice nearly broke when he forced himself to ask, “Understand what?”

Cas closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then settled himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “That I still have no intention of ever leaving you again.”

Dean nodded, dazed. One of his biggest fears over the past two months had been that Cas would want to explore the world on his own, that he’d feel the need to live his own human life without the daily reminder of what he’d given up. Knowing Cas intended to stay with him, no matter what, settled something deep inside of him. It felt remarkably like the wave of soothing peace and comfort he’d felt from Cas before the ritual. “That’s… that’s good, Cas. Because I never want you to leave.”

Cas smiled, just a tiny smile, but the last of the worry that had inspired Dean to kiss him melted from his eyes. Instead of calming the desire, it made Dean want to kiss him that much more.

They’d carefully avoided touching each other, keeping just enough space between them so they wouldn’t bump knees, or worse. But now they both inched closer, and the gap between them shrank to a hair’s breadth.

Dean still had so many questions, so much more to say. He wanted to give in and put the rest of his worries aside, close the distance between them once and for all and be done with it. His conscience still wouldn’t let him. He squeezed his eyes shut long enough to ask one more question.

“You felt it, though, right? The Mark, I mean. It hurt you, at the end there, before everything whited out?”

The last poisonous wisps of guilt refused to let go without a fight, but he’d be damned if he’d give in this close to the finish line. He opened his eyes and was relieved to see Cas still smiling crookedly at him. Dean had expected consternation, or even Cas shutting down and refusing to add anything to Dean’s mountain of evidence that he was a worthless piece of shit who didn’t deserve good things. The fact that Cas seemed to find it funny threw him for a loop.

“It reminded me of Gandalf facing the Balrog. I felt only one lash of its fiery whip before you wrestled it away, dragging it into oblivion.”

Dean gaped at him for a minute. “Dude, did you just compare me to fucking Gandalf?”

Cas shrugged, and his smile widened. “Gandalf was an exceptional wizard. It took both of us to fill his shoes. I can accept that.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin. His angel had only been human for a couple of months and he was already turning into a goofy fucking nerd. His answer still hadn’t extinguished the last suffocating curls of guilt though. Dean tried to school his face back into seriousness, but it was getting harder and harder to deny that there might not be anything to feel guilty about anymore.

“But it did hit you. It hurt you.”

Cas shook his head, leaning forward and stretching his hands out to clasp around Dean’s. A shadow flickered behind his eyes thinking back to that moment, and he couldn’t hide it from Dean, but he needed them both to get past this. “You lived with it for over a year, Dean. I felt it for a fraction of a second. What I felt was a papercut in comparison. It was a last desperate attempt for the curse that had been burning you alive for a year to make a stand, and it failed. You saved me, Dean. Yes, I felt it, the hungry darkness trying to consume me, and it hurt. But what hurt the most was knowing how long you’d lived with it while I’d been unable to do anything to protect you from it. And when you pulled it from me, my last thought was that I still couldn’t protect you from the pain of taking on my grace, and what must’ve been excruciating suffering while my grace ripped the entirety of that darkness from your soul.”

There wasn’t really much Dean could say to that. “Uh… yeah. It wasn’t a trip to Disneyland.”

Cas seized the opportunity to steer their conversation into calmer waters. Everything between them was forgiven, and there was nothing to gain from dwelling any longer on their worst memories. A new and more hopeful future lay before them, if they could finally lay their past to rest. “I’ve heard Disneyland is a happy place. We should consider visiting there.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah. We can get Sammy a mouse ears hat with his name sewn on the back.”

Cas looked confused, but didn’t bother asking what a hat had to do with anything. It was enough for him to see Dean smile again.

“Just tell me, Cas, and then I promise to drop it. You were out cold, just like I was, at the end of that video. I haven’t been able to stop wondering how bad you were really hurt. By the time I dragged myself back to reality, you and Sammy didn’t seem to want to talk about what happened.”

“Sam told me that I was unconscious for perhaps ten minutes. I believe it was the combined effect of removing my grace and then feeling it snuffed out. It was no longer a physical part of me, but it had been the entirety of what I was for so long that I couldn’t help but react to its extinction.”

A look of horror had slowly crept across Dean’s face and Cas redoubled his efforts to explain. “But when I felt that, I knew the spell had absolutely worked. I knew you were free of the Mark, Dean. It was a shock, but at that moment I knew you would survive, and I was content.”

Dean was still choking on the realization that Cas had felt his grace die. It didn’t matter how fucking _content_ he may have been, it still sucked, and it was still Dean’s fault.

Cas could tell he wasn’t going to let it go, and finally released one of Dean’s hands to rub at his forehead. As a human, he’d become all too familiar with the meaning of the phrase _nagging headache_.

“Do not blame yourself for this, Dean. I knew what would happen when I surrendered my grace to you. I wanted it to happen.”

Dean scoffed. “You wanted to feel yourself die?”

“Of course not, Dean. I am not dead. I’m right here. All of me except the power that made me an angel. There were only two possible outcomes that day: we both lived or we both died. And we lived. And I would like to be happy about that fact now instead of spending the next fifty or sixty years tearing my hair out trying to convince you to be happy about it, too.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean all but shouted. “I’m the happiest bastard on the planet!”

The force of Dean’s declaration took Cas by surprise, as did the look on Dean’s face. Dean’s knitted brows and frown melted away into confusion as he realized how absurd he sounded.

Cas smiled again. “We’re both being ridiculous now, Dean.” The specter of a headache evaporated and he squeezed Dean’s hands reassuringly. “What’s done is done. Heaven has no claim on me, and Hell has no claim on you. We are free. You will never convince me that it wasn’t a fair trade.”

Dean studied Cas’s face, searching for the shadow he’d seen before, a hint that there was something more he wasn’t saying, but it was gone. It was true. They were finally free. And Cas _still_ wanted to stay with him. He felt something deep inside his chest unclench. Dean squeezed Cas’s hands and leaned so their foreheads were almost touching, like he was about to share a secret.

“So you really want to go to Disneyland?”

Cas shrugged, but his smile betrayed his relief at Dean’s acceptance. “I will go anywhere you want to, Dean.”

Dean nodded slowly, holding Cas’s gaze. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, because even though this conversation had started at the end, it had finally looped back around to that original point.

“Then can I kiss you again now?”

Cas felt his pulse surge. After two months of Dean’s tentative touches and hesitant exploration, the last wall of uncertainty lay in ruins between their feet. All it had taken was half a day spent in another universe where their doppelgangers only had to pretend to reenact their battles with Heaven, Hell, and everything in between, as a fiction. To those men, it had been a day job they’d been able to keep separate from their regular lives. They could be “Dean” and “Cas” for a few hours and then change their clothes and wash off the makeup, then step right out of the supernatural world and into a completely foreign reality where none of those horrors existed. One day in Jensen and Misha’s admittedly comfortable shoes, free of the responsibilities of keeping the universe safe from whatever monster would rear its ugly head next, had been enough to peel away their own self-imposed costumes.

Before dropping the last of his reservations and stepping over the rubble, Cas had one final question he needed answered. “This sudden desire to kiss me, is it only because you have spent the day pretending to be Jensen-- pretending to be in love with Misha?”

Dean considered the implications of Cas’s question and the sudden intensity of his gaze. If ever there was a more appropriate time for a conversation-ending confession, Dean couldn’t imagine it. After a brief confirmation that, yes, he was still breathing, and no, he didn’t seem to be on the verge of suffering an aneurysm, he let it go and hoped that Cas would catch him before he landed face first on the debris of the ruined wall he’d spent the last seven years shoring up.

“You want complete honesty here?” Dean asked, and then waited for Cas to nod. “It’s not a sudden desire.”

Cas’s breath caught in his throat, but Dean didn’t flinch, just held his gaze and waited for Cas to process his confession before going on.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, man. Years. But you were an angel and I was the asshole who started the Apocalypse. Then it was over, and you had to flap off and fix Heaven. You were God for a while there, and what the fuck was I supposed to do with that? Then you were just fucking gone. When I found you again, I thought maybe, just maybe you’d stick around for once, but then you were broken again. I tore up Purgatory to get you back, but you didn’t want to leave with me. When you came back, you weren’t even yourself anymore, and I’m sorry I couldn’t forgive you back then, but damn. Thinking you didn’t trust me anymore, that you had to run off on your own again, that fucking hurt. And then you were human. I finally thought I’d get to keep you around, but Sammy would’ve died if I hadn’t listened to Gadreel, and I thought I had no other choice but to send you away. Why do you think I tried to kill the bastard when he came back to us for help?” Dean looked down at their joined hands and realized he’d been unconsciously rubbing Cas’s knuckles with his thumbs. He froze for a moment, but then took a deep breath and let his hands resume their soothing.

“I know it wasn’t his fault, but Gadreel was responsible for a lot of bad shit, and what he made me to do you was at the top of that list. You were nearly killed twice while you should’ve been with me.”

“Dean…” Cas tried to interrupt him. He no longer doubted Dean’s motives. His heart was breaking, knowing all that time Dean had been waiting for him to show some sign that his feelings were not one-sided. He’d listened to years of Dean’s prayers, including a near-constant undercurrent of wordless longing, but he’d always been able to convince himself that it was a sign of their bond, and of the kind of love that Dean felt toward everyone he considered family. He’d never allowed himself to hope that it could’ve been anything more than that.

Dean shook his head and kept talking. “You ran off to fix Heaven again, and I took on the Mark to kill Abaddon. Everything went to hell at that point.” He laughed, dark and mirthless. “And now we’re here. Both human, both free to decide what we want to do with the rest of our lives. For once, we really do have a choice.”

Cas swallowed down his own guilt. It had no place here. Dean was willing to put their past to rest and stake his hope on the future. Cas could live with that. “So you chose to kiss me, on stage in front of a thousand strangers?”

Dean grinned, tugging Cas’s hands closer. “I knew you wouldn’t punch me in the face for trying it.”

“Dean, I would never…” Cas tried to pull his hands away, but Dean held them tight.

“Kidding, Cas. It was a joke.”

“Ah, I see.” Cas settled back down, and let Dean continue to play with his fingers. It felt nice, he realized. Calming. The longer it went on, the more daring Dean seemed to become, rolling his hands back and forth and caressing each of his fingers, his palms, his wrists. He wondered if Dean was enjoying the sensation as much as he was, and tentatively began his own exploration of Dean’s hands.

Neither of them broke eye contact, until eventually they ended up with their fingers linked together, palm to palm. Dean finally looked down at their joined hands, and Cas could see the content smile on his face when he looked up again.

“Hester was right though. When I touched your soul in Hell, I was lost. Lost to Heaven, lost to the angels. But I found something even more precious to me. I tried to deny it, tried to let it go as if it hadn’t already changed me completely. Giving up my grace was not a matter of sacrifice, but one of acceptance. I have always belonged with you, Dean. Every time I left, every time I died, I always came back to you. I believe the lesson has finally sunk in. I won’t willingly leave you again.”

Dean’s fingers crushed tightly around his own, until Cas had to squeeze back in order to relieve the pressure. It seemed to startle Dean out from wherever Cas’s confession had driven him. They both eased their grip, but neither moved to let go.

“Yeah. You said that already.”

“And knowing that I will still be here tomorrow, and every day after that, you still wish to kiss me again.” It wasn’t a question anymore, it was a final clarification.

“Yeah, and I’ll probably want to kiss you again tomorrow, and every day after that. Like I said, it’s not some sudden urge hitting me out of left field.”

Cas said he’d never leave him again. Dean felt like it was some sort of free pass, a golden ticket, a get out of jail free card. If ever there was a time to man up and admit the truth, it was now, because Cas said he wouldn’t leave, no matter what. Dean swallowed hard and barreled on.

“I love you, Cas, and I know you love me too. But I get it if you’re not into kissing or… or anything else. I won’t ask again if you say no. But if you’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of our lives, then you deserve to know how I feel.”

Having said his piece, Dean tried to look away. He’d wanted Cas for so long, the desire had become a constant humming drone in the background. He didn’t have to think about it, but it was always there, a low-level _what if_   he never expected to have a firm answer to. Now that it was out in the open, Cas could shoot him down once and for all. It wouldn’t end the desire, but he’d never be able to look at it without feeling the bitter sting of a rejection. He wasn’t sure how he’d live with it; but for Cas, he’d try.

Cas pulled his right hand free and Dean shrank even further into himself, bracing himself for the worst. Instead, he felt Cas’s fingertips along his jaw, gently nudging him until he met Cas’s eyes again.

“I do love you, Dean. And I want this, too.”

Finally, they kicked their way through the last of the fallen stones between them.


	13. Chapter 13

Cas leaned in first. Dean had barely processed his words before Cas’s lips were pressed against his own. He’d been ready for the worst. He’d expected rejection, but it took less than a second for him to catch up.

He’d stopped trying to convince himself that Cas didn’t really love him a long time ago. They’d never outright said it, but they both knew they loved each other. You might throw yourself on a grenade for a buddy once, but they’d both done it often enough to turn blowing themselves up to save the other into an art form. No two ways about it, that’s love. It’s just, there’s love… and then there’s _love._

The fact that Cas actually _wanted_ him, though. That was new information. He still wasn’t sure the reality of it had fully registered in his mind, but he’d wanted Cas for so long that the merest brush of his lips had triggered an instinctual response. His mouth took over until he could convince the rest of his body to engage.

They started slow, Cas hesitantly touching his lips to Dean’s. Cas felt Dean’s breath catch in his throat before he moved, tilting his head to kiss back. There was no force, no rush, no desperate battle; just a warm need to be closer.

Dean had imagined what kissing Cas would be like a thousand times. Back when he’d seemed like some alien creature, Dean had wondered if it might be like trying to kiss a sexy lightning storm, full of power and wrath. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been tempted to kiss a confused look off of Cas’s face; every time Cas failed to understand some odd quirk of humanity. And every time he’d thought Cas was lost to him forever and then somehow miraculously found him again, he’d been tempted to hold him still and kiss him until he never wanted to leave again. And now Cas was there, kissing him, promising to stay.

Their hands were still clasped together, their knees bumping as they leaned closer. Dean inched to the edge of his chair, pulling on Cas’s hands until he did the same, only breaking their kiss when they couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer.

Dean pulled back to breathe, resting his forehead against Cas’s. He’d already opened his eyes, and watched as Cas blinked his open. The bright blue Dean was used to staring at across artificially imposed distances suddenly seemed darker, and he was distracted by constellations only visible from two inches away.

After a minute or two of just breathing and staring into each other’s eyes-- or what might’ve been hours-- Cas asked, “Are we done kissing now?”

Dean laughed and stood, pulling Cas to his feet by their still-joined hands. He kissed him again, untangling their hands so he could wrap his arms around Cas, drawing him in close. “I hope not.”

Cas sighed deeply and breathed out slowly, allowing his arms to encircle Dean’s waist. He’d hugged and been hugged by Dean before, but they’d always let go too soon. And none of their previous hugs had involved lips, or teeth, or tongues.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they’d been standing there by the table, just kissing, as if what they were doing could be described as _just_ anything. They weren’t in a hurry, had nowhere they needed to be, no monsters to hunt, no one’s life on the line. It was just the two of them, and Dean was determined to do this right.

He worshiped at Cas’s mouth before trailing kisses across his rough stubble to Cas’s neck, while Cas leaned his head back and groaned, fingers clenching and unclenching against the back of Dean’s shirt. Dean held him tighter at sound of Cas’s rumbling moan, savoring the feel of it beneath his lips and tongue as Dean kissed and sucked his way across Cas’s throat. He couldn’t help the low, possessive sound he made as he redoubled his efforts to draw another groan from Cas. He was rewarded a moment later when he focused his attention on a spot below Cas’s ear that had him shuddering, this time groaning out _Dean_ as his hands finally worked the hem of Dean’s shirt up enough to grasp at the skin of Dean’s back. Dean finished his work just above Cas’s collar with one last gentle kiss and leaned back to admire the red mark he’d raised.

Cas took advantage of Dean’s momentary distraction to crush his lips against Dean’s once more, with far less patience than their last kiss. Dean responded instantly, parting his lips and encouraging Cas to explore to his heart’s content, the fingers of one hand sliding up the back of Cas’s neck and into his hair. Cas tightened his grip around Dean’s waist, pulling their bodies flush and grinding their hips together. Dean gasped into his mouth at the pleasure and relief that small bit of friction brought, and the undeniable realization that Cas was as turned on as he was. It nearly knocked him off his feet and left him clinging tighter as he and Cas shuffled against each other to regain their shaky balance.

Dean ended up leaning against the edge of the table, Cas straddling one of his thighs, relentlessly rolling his surprisingly agile hips against Dean’s. He would’ve assumed Cas was mindlessly seeking relief rutting against his thigh, but it was obvious he was making sure Dean was pleasured with each press of his hips. The pressure against his erection was just enough to drive Dean crazy, but pinned against the table as he was, held in place by Cas’s hands and body, he wasn’t able to push for more, and he didn’t even care. He’d let Cas gradually drag him into madness with slow rolls of his body, just as long as he promised never to stop.

A sudden crash out in the hallway, followed by what sounded like a mixture of angry French cursing and the clatter of silverware and broken glass being collected still wasn’t enough of a distraction to pull them apart, but it did register in their awareness. They pulled out of their kiss, assessing the situation on the other side of the door before realizing it was probably a member of the hotel staff come to collect their empty room service trays.

They stood frozen, as if they were expecting the hotel employee to come barging into the room. After only a minute or two, the rattling sounds of the busboy’s cart faded away down the hall and the state of heightened alert bred from years of hunting seeped away leaving Dean marginally more in control of the situation than he’d been before they were interrupted. If he’d still been an angel, there was no telling the fury he would’ve unleashed on that poor unsuspecting door, not to mention the clumsy busboy on the other side, for having dared to interrupt their previous activities.

Cas was still focused on the door, but Dean took the opportunity while Cas was otherwise occupied to glance around the room and remember where they were. He caught a glimpse out the large windows across the room and realized dusk was setting in. It had probably been several hours since Jared and Gen had left, and if they only intended to go out for dinner they could be back at any time. It would probably be best not to be having sex on the dining room table when they got back. Not to mention that Dean had borrowed all his clothes from a stranger, despite that stranger being a dead ringer for him, and it felt a little bit wrong that he’d been so close to coming in said stranger’s pants. He really hoped that, if Jensen was currently wearing _his_ pants back in his own universe, that he’d show the same sort of basic courtesy. With that bracing epiphany, he gently eased Cas back a step so he could lever himself up off the table.

Cas, who was still laser-focused on the door as if he could see through it, or possibly blast a hole through it if need be, turned back to Dean without dropping an ounce of intensity. Instead of shrinking away from Cas’s I-can-kill-you-with-my-brain glare like a normal person with any sense of self-preservation would’ve, Dean smiled.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this in the dining room.”

Cas’s eyes softened, realizing Dean didn’t intend to call a halt to their activities, only relocate them to a more appropriate venue. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against sex in dining rooms in general. You know, for future reference.”

Cas snorted. “I will bear that in mind then, for future reference.”

Dean didn’t say anything at first. Cas was still in his arms, holding him back just as tight. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but it was happening, and he needed it to keep happening without any further interruptions.

“We should probably take this into the bedroom,” Dean suggested. It may have been Jensen and Misha’s bedroom, rather than their bedroom, but it was still a hotel. Someone would surely change the sheets before Jensen and Misha turned back up. He was relieved when he remembered that he, Sam, and Cas had also been staying at a hotel when they’d been sucked into this universe, so if Jensen and Misha were spending the weekend with Sam, at least they wouldn’t be getting up to any weird shit in his bed back at the bunker. Dean didn't give a rat's ass what they got up to in some random motel room. It seemed a fair trade to defile their hotel room’s bed in a similar fashion.

Cas smiled and took a step backward, loosening his grip around Dean just enough to untangle themselves so they could walk without falling over. Cas didn’t much care where they went, as long as they weren’t interrupted again. While staring down the door, he’d noticed a laminated card hanging on the knob printed with the instruction _Ne pas déranger, s'il vous plaît_. He released Dean and retrieved the sign, and without further comment transferred it over to the doorknob of their bedroom.

“I believe this will deter any further interruptions,” he said, before opening the door and stepping inside.

Dean had stood by the table, watching Cas casually move the sign. He didn’t read French, but he’d stayed in enough motels in his life to recognize a _Do Not Disturb_ sign when he saw one. And Cas had… and he was still… A shudder ran through him and he took off for the bedroom like his life depended on it.

He closed the door behind him and double checked that it was locked. If Jared was anything like Sam, a plastic sign wouldn’t be enough to keep him from barging in if he had a good enough reason to.

He barely had enough time to turn around before Cas slammed him back against the locked door and tried to pick up exactly where they’d left off. Cas fitted himself right up against him again. Rather than diving straight back in for a kiss, Cas raised one hand to Dean’s face to run his fingertips over his cheek, the pad of his thumb gently swiping across his lower lip. Cas just watched his hand wonderingly, as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to do this.

Dean leaned his head back against the door and let Cas do whatever he pleased. They had time now, but that didn’t mean he intended to stand around all night. He parted his lips and nipped at Cas’s thumb before sucking it into his mouth. It surprised Cas out of his reverie and Dean found himself back in charge again, with Cas unable to do more than shift his gaze from Dean’s mouth to his eyes and back again. Dean dragged the tip of his tongue up the length of Cas’s thumb before releasing it entirely and pushing himself off the door.

He guided a still slightly awestruck Cas back toward the bed by his shoulders. Dean kept him from falling backward when his calves hit the edge of the mattress, and then let his hands drop to the top button of Cas’s shirt.

Dean made sure he had Cas’s attention and asked, “Is this okay?”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean and leaned in to grumble in Dean’s ear, “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Dean repressed the urge to laugh and undid the first button. Cas slid his hands up Dean’s chest to work at removing Dean's flannel shirt. Dean stubbornly refused to drop his hands so Cas could slide it off until he was finished. He gently nudged Cas’s arms out of his way so that he could properly appreciate every inch of newly revealed skin as he pushed the shirt off Cas’s shoulders and down his arms to land on the floor.

As soon as his hands were free, Cas resumed his work on Dean’s shirt, and soon both it and Dean’s t-shirt were lying on the floor next to his own. It occurred to him that this was probably how the clothes strewn around the floor that morning ended up where he’d found them, and he grinned into Dean’s shoulder before raising his face to kiss Dean’s waiting mouth.

Dean shuffled from foot to foot trying to shove off his boots without breaking their kiss, but eventually groaned into Cas’s mouth in frustration.

“Dammit, stupid fucking boots,” he muttered as he dropped to his knee to untie both his and Cas’s laces. After divesting them both of shoes and socks, he rose to his feet, holding Cas’s gaze. They stood a painful six inches apart catching their breath.

Cas raised one hand to Dean’s waist, unable to resist touching any longer, but unsure of exactly what to do next. Dean stepped closer and said, “No stupid questions,” before reaching for Cas’s belt.

Cas tried to lean in for another kiss, his hand reflexively sliding around to Dean’s back to pull him closer. With that much warm, naked Cas pressed against him, Dean gave up on Cas’s belt and let himself melt into the kiss, feeling out every inch of skin he could reach. Eventually he groaned and forced himself back, panting out an order as he struggled to regain control of his breathing again.

“Cas. Pants off. Bed. Now.”

Cas blinked his eyes open and watched Dean wrestle with his own belt before nodding and stripping out of the rest of his clothes. He slid backward up the bed and waited while Dean kicked his jeans off and crawled up after him. Cas sat back against a small mountain of artfully arranged pillows trying to see every muscle move under Dean’s skin as closed in with the grace of a big cat stalking its prey, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the equally wild look in Dean’s eyes.

Dean stopped himself from rushing right back to Cas’s mouth, as tempting as it was. He had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t in a hurry, no matter how long he’d had to wait to get here. After seven years of fantasizing about this, about Cas, he wanted to savor every second of it.

He knelt on the mattress between Cas’s knees, propping himself over Cas’s body with his hands, and drinking in every inch of naked, aroused Cas with his eyes. Cas let his own gaze sweep over the entirety of Dean’s body above him, clenching his hands into the blanket to stop himself from pulling Dean down to him. He’d waited too long to rush this now. Then again, years that seemed like nothing when he was an angel looked entirely different now that he was human. The passage of time was no longer an irrelevance. With that in mind, he came to the conclusion that he’d waited long enough.

When Dean met his eyes again at long last, Cas released the blankets and threw his arms around Dean’s neck, dragging him down bodily into a kiss. Dean huffed out a surprised grunt as he lost his balance and crashed into Cas, but after a quick check to make sure no one had been injured, he got with the program.

As Dean had fallen, he’d done his best to align himself so he wouldn’t accidentally knee Cas in the groin, and as a result he now found himself perfectly nestled between Cas’s thighs. Cas tugged at his hair and shoulder, urging him closer to deepen the kiss. Dean gladly hitched his hips up to comply, grinning against Cas’s mouth when he gasped at the heat and friction and weight of Dean’s body sliding against his erection. Cas groaned and folded his legs around the backs of Dean’s thighs, pulling him in even tighter in an attempt to duplicate the delicious sensation.

“In a hurry there, Cas?” Dean asked, gently rocking their hips together as he kissed down Cas’s neck again.

“Yes,” Cas replied, urging Dean to move faster with his feet, as if Dean were a recalcitrant horse who needed to be spurred into cooperating.

Dean laughed, low and dark, but didn’t stop moving. The slow drag of their cocks together felt too good. “You know we have all night, right?”

Cas nodded, stretching out his neck to encourage Dean’s mouth lower with one hand tangled in his hair and the other clawing at Dean’s back. “If we have all night, then we can do this again later.”

Dean stilled, raising his head from the mark he’d been diligently sucking into Cas’s collarbone to stare in surprise at the pushy, adorable bastard beneath him. Cas blinked his eyes open and focused on Dean, and _pouted_. Dean had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at Cas, all sex-rumpled and wrathful, but he couldn’t argue. “That’s some sound logic there.”

Dean shifted his hips and grinned when Cas’s whined protest devolved into a groan of pleasure as Dean rocked against him. Cas writhed beneath him, trying to press as much of himself against as much of Dean as possible, until he needed to look down, to see them moving together. Dean watched as Cas’s eyes widened at the sight, and couldn’t resist reaching down to clasp his hand around both their cocks as they slid together. Cas sucked in a huge breath and his eyes fluttered shut at the first touch of Dean’s hand.

A moment later, Cas pulled Dean back down by his hair for an absolutely filthy kiss. It was all Dean could do to hold on for dear life as they thrusted together in his fist, suddenly racing toward the edge.

Now that Dean was complying with his needs, Cas took control of their kiss, as if he could taste every part of Dean if he only kissed him deeply enough. Dean never broke their rhythm, but did his best to give back as good as he got until they were left panting into each other’s mouths, unable to focus on anything beyond the building pleasure.

“Cas, I’m close.”

“Yes Dean.”

Cas let go of Dean, bringing one hand down to wrap with Dean’s around their straining cocks, and the other sliding to the handprint he’d left on Dean’s shoulder the first time they’d met. They abandoned the kiss in favor of holding each other’s gaze from three inches apart.

Cas shuddered as he felt a bolt of electricity shoot down his spine and then he was coming, mouth open in a wordless shout as he fought to keep his eyes focused on Dean coming undone above him.

Dean groaned out what may have been _ungh, Cas_ , as he felt his cock slide through the warm, sticky wetness of Cas’s come in their joined hands. It was all too much, and moments later he was coming, too. Staring into Cas’s eyes, he would’ve sworn he’d seen an explosion of grace as his vision whited out and he collapsed into blissful oblivion.

 

Dean’s senses kicked back online and the first thing he felt was Cas’s fingers gently tracing around the scar on his shoulder. He pushed himself up without dislodging Cas’s hand, because it felt too nice to let it stop, and found Cas smiling sleepily at him. He was pretty sure he’d never seen his angel look so damn relaxed. He knew he probably had an equally dopey smile on his own face, and he didn’t even care.

“Was that fast enough for you?” Dean asked, and then frowned. “That is a question I have never, ever asked after sex.”

“It was perfect, Dean.”

“Yeah, it was pretty damn awesome.” Dean sighed, and then turned a hungry look on Cas. “But next time I’m not lettin’ you rush me. There’s things I’ve wanted to do to you for years, and I intend to take my time doing them.”

“Things?” Cas asked, the soft smile turning feral around the edges as his spent body twitched at the dark promise in Dean’s voice.

“I’ve got a list,” Dean replied, reaching up with his sticky hand to pinch at Cas’s nipple, and laughed when Cas hissed a breath through his teeth and flinched away from Dean’s fingers. Dean had mercy on him and stopped torturing Cas with overstimulation. Instead, he leaned in for a kiss before peeling himself off of Cas before the drying come on their stomachs could glue them together . “For now, we should probably get cleaned up.”

Dean slid to the edge of the bed, holding his clean hand out for Cas.

Cas didn’t move. He was comfortably and contently becoming one with the pillows. “I don’t understand. You want me to move?”

Dean laughed again. “Yeah, man. We’re gross. It’s shower time.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Are we not going to have sex again tonight?”

Dean shrugged. “Shower sex is on that list I mentioned.”

“Oh,” Cas replied, sitting up and sliding to the edge of the bed. “I suppose that’s worth getting up for.”

“In every sense of the word,” Dean replied, grinning as Cas took his hand and dragged him toward the bathroom.

 

Dean correctly assumed that in a big, fancy hotel like that, there’d be a practically unlimited supply of hot water. Now that they’d relieved most of a decade’s worth of unresolved sexual tension, he intended to take his time exploring Cas’s body. They were both still happily floating in the wake of orgasm, and took turns carefully washing each other while stopping to focus on areas of particular interest as they learned how to draw gasps and moans of pleasure from each other with hands and mouths.

He wasn’t sure if they’d lost track of time, or if it was just that being with Cas turned him on that much, but sooner than Dean expected they were both hard again. He knew that Cas’s sexual experiences were fairly limited, much as he tried to avoid thinking about it at all, but knowing Cas didn't have any expectations gave him enough confidence to get a bit daring. He’d slipped to his knees and had been kissing bruises into the curve of Cas’s hip when he felt Cas’s growing erection nudge against his cheek. He looked up at Cas and took his cock firmly in hand, giving it a few gentle strokes.

Dean watched Cas closely as he leaned in and gave the head of his cock a tentative lick. Cas’s eyes flew wide open and his lips parted around a gasp, and that was all the encouragement Dean needed. With his hands and mouth, Dean worked Cas to a second orgasm, before Cas insisted they trade places so he could try as well. Dean’s knees gave out when he came and he joined Cas on the floor, trading lazy, sated kisses until the skin on their fingertips began to shrivel under the hot spray of the shower.

They were dried off and tucked into bed before Dean realized that somehow they’d ended up exactly where they’d started this crazy day-- naked and warm under the blankets with Cas curled around his back.

“‘Night, Cas,” he murmured, unsure if Cas was even still awake.

Cas settled himself closer, hugging one arm around Dean’s waist and pressing a kiss to the top of Dean’s spine. “Goodnight, Dean.”


	14. Chapter 14

It was still dark out when Dean woke again. He’d rolled over onto his back some time during the night, but Cas hadn’t let go of him. Quite the opposite, actually. Dean had six feet of ex-angel squashing him to the bed, complete with a little damp spot of drool on his shoulder that sent goosebumps racing across his flesh every time Cas exhaled.

As adorable as it was, and as much as he could’ve lain there all day admiring how serene and content Cas looked in his sleep, it was becoming impossible to ignore the primary reason he’d woken up.

He tried to shift Cas off of him without waking him, but he wasn’t having much luck. Cas just held on tighter, clamping down harder with the leg thrown across Dean’s stomach.

“Ung, Cas,” Dean said, still trying to nudge him gently. “Cas. You gotta let me go, man.”

“No,” Cas replied, half asleep.

“I’ll be right back, dude, but nature calls.”

“Hang up and go back to sleep.”

Dean tried to wedge his hand between Cas’s arm and his chest, but it would’ve been easier to pry the barnacles off the Titanic. “Dude! Cas! Let me up.”

It could’ve been the growing desperation in Dean’s voice, or the repeated jostling, but Cas finally blinked his eyes open. He stared up at Dean, confusion crinkling his brow for a moment, until the clouds parted behind his eyes and his entire body relaxed against Dean.

“You’re still here,” Cas said, not quite a question, but not entirely convinced it was true, either.

“Of course I’m still here, Cas. You won’t fucking let me get up.”

Cas stared back, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, followed by a downcast blush of guilt as he finally rolled off of Dean and slid himself clear across to the other side of the bed. “I’m sorry. You should’ve said something. I… I shouldn’t have presumed… Just let me get dressed and I’ll leave you alone.”

Dean groaned, torn between needing to go to the bathroom since, like, yesterday, and making sure Cas wasn’t flipping out on him. “Fuck.” Dean rubbed his face in frustration. “Listen, Cas. Don’t you dare get out of bed until I get back, but dammit I need to take a piss. Just... stay there.”

Dean was back in less than two minutes, and Cas was still wide awake, curled up under most of the blankets that he’d pulled with him to the far edge of the bed. While he relieved himself, Dean had been wondering why the hell Cas would think he wanted him to leave, and then it hit him.

Dean climbed back into bed and sidled over to Cas, lying down so they were face to face. Up close, he could see the worry in Cas’s eyes, and he got it. The last time Cas had woken up in bed with someone else, it hadn’t exactly turned out to be a pleasant day for the guy. For Dean either, but that's neither here nor there. Right then, he had to fix it.

“Gonna share the blankets, or are you gonna make me freeze over here.”

Cas warily lifted the edge of the blanket and threw it across Dean’s body. Dean took it as an invitation to scoot closer into Cas’s warmth and pulled Cas in against his chest.

“Were you dreaming about something right before you woke up?” Dean asked.

Cas shifted uneasily, recalling a hazy and upsetting dream. “You wanted to leave me. You… there was a phone call, and…”

Dean couldn’t stop his laugh. “Oh my god, you little shit. I thought you were awake, because you were answering me. Like, out loud. Call of nature. You told me to hang up.”

Cas propped himself up on one elbow and squinted at Dean. “So, you’re not upset with me? That I stayed here with you?”

Dean shook his head, finally getting his laughter under control, grinning back at Cas. “No way. Hell, I didn’t want to get up at all. I’ve been awake for about half an hour. But, you know.” Dean shrugged, apologetically closing the distance and kissing the last of the fear off Cas’s face.

They spent enough time lost in each other that eventually Cas had to excuse himself to the bathroom, which set Dean off laughing again. When he returned, Dean was sitting up, watching the first glimmers of dawn through the window.

“Think we should find some breakfast? I know we’ve got a shitload of stuff to do today.”

Cas slumped a little at the reminder of why they’d woken up in such a fancy hotel room again. “I suppose.”

Dean stood, wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulders, and led him over to the armoire filled with their doppelgangers’ clothes. “We’ll be done by dinner, and then we can do whatever you want until we get sucked back home, all right?”

“And after that? When we get _sucked back home_?”

Dean could hear the air quotes again, even though he’d finally broken Cas of the habit of actually making them with his fingers. He grinned, kissed Cas once firmly on the mouth, and threw the cupboard doors open. “Don’t worry about it. I’m working on it.”

Cas _was_ worried, though. It was one thing for them to be this… whatever they were to each other here, in this world that had no bearing on their real lives. At home, confronted with his brother and their friends, would everything go back to how it was before? Or was he only doubting it because of how he’d woken up? Everyone else who’d been touched by Rhiannon’s magic seemed to recall their time under her spell, but would they? It was all too much to worry about, but he couldn’t help standing there, dazedly watching Dean pull out jeans and a dark grey henley and begin getting dressed.

Dean looked up once he’d buttoned his jeans and realized Cas hadn’t moved yet. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded, and stepped away from Dean to select his own outfit for the day. “Just overwhelmed, I think.”

Cas wouldn’t look at him though, and it worried Dean. He reached out to stop Cas’s hands before he could pull a dark blue shirt off a hanger. “Really? Because you don’t look okay.”

“It’s nothing, Dean.”

“Nope. No way. It’s something. Talk to me.”

Cas sighed and realized if he didn’t say anything, he’d spend the rest of their time in Paris feeling miserable. “Will you still want me when we get home?”

“What?” Dean stared at him, and then blinked as if he hadn’t understood the question. “Of course I will. No stupid questions, right?”

“But Sam, and Charlie, and…”

Dean cut him off. “Yeah, but I don’t want to sleep with Sam and Charlie. They’ll deal with it.”

“But, you don’t think they’ll be upset? About us?”

A pinched look came over Dean’s face. “They better damn well not be upset.”

Cas nodded a few times until Dean grabbed hold of his shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“You and me? That’s it. You’re stuck with me now, Cas. Get used to it.” And then Dean kissed him again. “But right now, you really should get dressed. Coffee. Breakfast.”

Cas did as he was told. When they were both dressed and ready to head out in search of caffeine and carbs, he asked, “So your plans for when we get home have nothing to do with us?”

“Of course they do. First thing is getting back to the bunker and moving you into my room, because my room is awesome.”

Cas stopped what he was doing, Misha Collins’ wallet shoved halfway into his back pocket, and stared open-mouthed at Dean. “You want me to live in your room? With you?”

Dean shuffled his feet and turned to face Cas. “Unless you don’t want to. I mean, you don’t have to. I just thought--”

“No! No, I would like that very much, Dean.”

Dean grinned, relieved. “Good. That’s awesome.”

“And the second thing?”

“Second thing?” Dean asked, still grinning like a loon. “Oh, right! That’s still a work in progress. But you’re gonna love it. I swear.”

Cas smiled. “Thank you, Dean. I’m sure I will.”

Dean couldn’t figure out the password to unlock Jensen’s phone, but accidentally discovered that his thumbprint worked just as well, which was more than a little creepy. He wondered just how identical he and Jensen were-- if all their freckles matched up, or if Jensen had the same few grey hairs he did. It was unsettling enough that he didn’t really want to flip through the guy’s photo albums so he wouldn’t be forced to think about their similarities anymore. He only brought the phone along with him so he could use it as a clock. He missed his watch, and if Jensen owned one, Dean hadn’t been able to find it.

It was barely past five am when they wandered out to look for the room service menu. Sadly, breakfast service didn’t begin until six, so they decided to try their luck in the neighborhood around their hotel. Dean also figured they’d be able to find a cup of coffee for less than $15. Jensen and Misha seemed to have plenty of Euros in their wallets and hopefully wouldn’t begrudge them a decent breakfast.

The lobby of their hotel was deserted, aside from the concierge looking rather bored at his kiosk. He perked up when Cas walked over, asking in French for directions to the closest coffee shop.

He returned to Dean looking a little glum. “Most of the bakeries don’t open until seven. It looks like we’re better off going back upstairs and waiting for room service.”

Dean glanced out the front door and then back to Cas. They hadn’t left the building since they’d first woken up there nearly twenty four hours ago. “We could walk around for an hour and come back.”

“We could,” Cas replied, perking up at the suggestion, and led Dean outside by the hand.

After ten minutes or so, they found themselves on an incredibly broad sidewalk in front of an even wider roadway. ”Don’t tell me we have to try and cross that.”

“I didn’t plan on it,” Cas replied, turning left and heading up the road.

“I’d hate to be here at rush hour. The hell do they need this many lanes for?”

Cas shrugged. “It’s the Champs-Élysées. It’s always been this way.”

Dean spun halfway around, looking up and down the broad boulevard while still trying to keep up with Cas. “Hey, I’ve heard of that.”

Cas just nodded and kept walking. He pointed out the Arc de Triomphe off in the distance as they turned back down another side street that would lead them in the general direction of their hotel. The entire time they walked, they talked, about everything from a weird-looking car with a purple paint job, to the history of the buildings they passed, to what movies they wanted to watch next, and everything in between.

The hour flew by, and they were back at their hotel before they realized it. The lobby had a few early risers milling about, either going out for a run or searching for the morning paper. A couple of girls lounging in one corner of the lobby seemed to recognize them, but luckily the girls just offered a friendly wave and left them to go about their business.

Jared and Gen were up and about when they got back to the room, and had already ordered a full breakfast.

“We thought you guys were still sleeping,” Gen said. “So we just told them to send what they did yesterday.”

“Oh, thanks,” Dean replied, sitting down at the table with Cas still glued to his side. “We went out in search of coffee. I thought this town never sleeps, but nothing’s open yet. Where’s a good diner when you need one?”

“That’s New York, Dean,” Cas said. “Paris is the city of lights. New York never sleeps. At least according to Frank Sinatra.”

“Whatever. They still could use a decent diner.”

Jared laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably true.”

Gen just sat across the table, watching Dean and Cas, and smiling. “You guys sleep okay?”

Dean realized he was still holding Cas’s hand in his lap, but he refused to let go. He had to remind himself that it was okay, and he didn’t have to let go. He cleared his throat and replied, “Yeah. Great. Thanks.”

Gen nodded, still smiling, and didn’t poke at them further, thank god. “And you’re good on the schedule for today? You need to go over it again?”

Dean glanced over at Cas, who seemed confident and at ease. “Nah, we got it.”

***

Breakfast arrived a few minutes later, and they spent a leisurely hour enjoying it. Jared and Gen asked a million questions, comparing the events on their show to Dean and Cas’s actual experiences. Cas talked about Heaven, angels, Hell, and even Purgatory until Dean started to look a little ill and he mercifully changed the subject. Dean spent a long time just talking about Sam, which thrilled Jared to no end. He seemed particularly relieved to learn that he’d done Sam’s character the justice he deserved. Jared’s love for and understanding of Sam deeply impressed both Dean and Cas, and pretty much guaranteed Jared’s acceptance into the Unofficial Extended Winchester Family.

By the time their posse of handlers showed up to take them to their morning panel, they were all laughing together like old friends.

The hall where they’d had their panel the previous afternoon had been rearranged yet again. The first few rows of chairs had been replaced by half a dozen round tables set with coffee and pastries for the smaller group of fans who’d shelled out a lot more money to shake hands with their favorite actors at the ass-crack of dawn. It wasn’t like a regular panel, where they were expected to stand on stage answering questions. All the actors were to make rounds, visiting each table to greet the fans individually.

Jared, Dean, and Cas went last, just as the first few actors were finishing up with their last table. It was just as odd and eye-opening as their autograph session the previous night had been. The fans were genuinely delighted to meet them, but it was still weird talking to so many complete strangers who knew all about their lives.

Dean found himself falling behind as Jared and Cas moved on to the next table, and he hardly registered the next few people he spoke with. The last girl at his table had taken his hand, as if she were deliberately trying to hold him back. She spoke quietly, so Dean needed to lean in close to hear her, and suddenly he couldn’t help but remember her. She’d asked a question at their panel the day before; the one about what their characters would think of the convention. It wasn’t the colorful streaks of blue and red woven in to her long, braided hair that made her memorable; it was something about her eyes, which were a stunning bright golden brown, made even brighter in contrast with her dark skin. Still, it was her eyes which drew him in. With one quick glance over her shoulder to be sure that “Misha” was far enough away, she spoke.

“I am so glad you both look happy again today.”

Dean tried to pull away, a confused look on his face. But she tugged him back.

“Yesterday you both seemed upset somehow. Distant. Hesitant with each other. But I am relieved that everything seems settled between you. You both deserve to be happy. I only want you to be happy, Dean.”

With that, she winked, released his hand, and got up from the table. She was out the door before Dean realized she hadn’t called him Jensen. She'd called him Dean. He bolted after her, but when he reached the hallway she was nowhere to be found.

He caught up to Cas and finished his greetings as quickly as he could without seeming impolite or ungrateful, pulling Cas aside as soon as they were led to the waiting area behind the stage’s curtains. “I’m not sure, but I think one of the chicks out there was Rhiannon.”

Cas started in surprise. “What makes you think that?”

“She told me she wants us to be happy, and then she called me Dean.”

Cas tried to peek through the curtain at the fans enjoying the last of their breakfasts. “Which woman was this?”

“She left right after she talked to me. You saw me run out the door?”

Cas nodded, dropping the curtain and focusing on Dean.

“Yeah, and by the time I got there, she’d vanished. Poof. Gone.”

Cas furrowed his brows. “If you see her again, will you point her out to me?”

“If I see her again, I will.”

***

Jared had to run off to do his individual photo ops, leaving Cas and Dean with Gen for half an hour before Dean joined Jared for their joint photo session. It ran more smoothly than the previous day’s session, now that they knew what to expect. Cas sat and watched Dean take photo after photo with a long string of fans, many of whom he saw again a few minutes later during his joint session with Dean, and then again by himself. It proved a little distracting to some of the fans, but he was grateful to Dean and Jared for staying in the room and talking him through his solo photo session. By the end, it didn’t matter that Dean was not Jensen, or that Jared was not Sam. Both of them were happy and smiling, trading jokes and comments with the familiarity and ease of the brothers Cas knew.

They took a chance on staying in the green room for lunch rather than running up to their room and ordering food in. Dean was relieved that this green room was decorated like a modern office conference room instead of Heaven’s frouffy green room; the long central table covered in platters of sandwiches, cookies, and fruit. They had the whole room to themselves since most of the other actors had taken off for the day after the breakfast panel, aside from the few who were still currently on stage. Most of them were free to do what they wanted until the closing ceremony that night, and they’d taken advantage of their chance to do some sightseeing. Even Gen had gone out with Felicia for the afternoon. Dean tried to convince Cas to go with them to have a little fun, but he insisted he wanted to sit backstage during Dean’s panel with Jared.

After they ate, the three of them sat around nibbling cookies and drinking a few beers. Dean was relieved they were all European brands and not the stuff Zachariah had tried to serve him.

Jared tried to fill Dean in on everything the fans might ask, which was mostly stuff about their friendship and the things they did together outside of their work on Supernatural. Dean was impressed once again by the lives their counterparts in this monster-free world were able to live. They raised money for charity, participated in some rather disturbing-sounding athletic events (who the hell runs through a ten mile long mud pit _on purpose_ , for _fun?_ ), helped Misha out with his charity and annual scavenger hunt, and generally just enjoyed each other’s company.

At one point, the conversation stopped while Jared frantically searched through his phone for some pictures he’d taken on set, as a visual aid for Dean to prepare for questions about the crew. Cas took the opportunity to ask a question that had been on his mind all day.

“Did you see her again?”

Dean, comfortably full and nursing along just enough of an alcohol buzz to feel at ease but still entirely in control of himself, leaned against Cas on the small sofa they’d claimed at the far end of the conference room. Jared glanced up curiously at Cas’s question, but went right back to his phone. Dean had to think for a minute who Cas meant.

“Rhiannon? Nah. If that was her, she’s gone now. Or she didn’t feel like shelling out for a picture.”

“And you’re sure it was her?”

At this, Jared did interrupt, his voice creeping higher as he went along. “Wait, you’re saying the goddess who sent you here was actually _here_? In person? Today?”

Dean shrugged. Goddesses popping up unannounced might be any given Tuesday for him, but it was cute watching Jared freak out about it. “Pretty damn sure, yeah.”

“And all she said was that she wants you to be happy?”

Jared dropped his phone and then fumbled to pick it up with a muttered _sorry, sorry._

Dean grinned at Jared and then turned back to Cas. “She said she wanted both of us happy.”

“Are you happy, Dean?” Cas asked, while memories of all the emotions dredged up in the last day and a half whirled through his head.

Dean nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face. He clapped a hand on to Cas’s knee and held tight. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Cas glanced down at Dean’s hand and then back into his eyes. “Good. I am, too.”

Jared let their silent staring contest go on for a minute or two before clearing his throat and handing over his phone for Dean to study. He wouldn’t lay a wager in Vegas yet, but he was starting to believe that Jensen and Misha might finally get their wish about their characters starting up an on-screen romance.

***

Cas sat backstage while Jared and Dean carried on a lively discussion with the audience. It was eerie listening to Dean speak at length about someone else’s life as if it were his own. He supposed it wasn’t all that dissimilar from assuming one of his forged identities during a hunt, but the degree to which he’d taken on Jensen’s persona in front of such a large audience and for nearly an hour went far beyond what was usually necessary to conduct a witness interview or deal with local law enforcement.

At one point, Dean was asked about Jensen’s relationship with Misha, and even without being able to see him Cas could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. It was obvious that, even if the names were wrong, the feeling behind his words was completely genuine.

Gen and Felicia returned from their afternoon out toward the end of the panel and joined Cas backstage. Just as Charlie had the first time he met her, Felicia walked right up to Cas and gave him a big hug and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“You and Dean ready to go out there alone?” she asked in a hushed voice.

Cas nodded. “It should be easier, answering questions as myself rather than pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“Oh yeah. Acting is hard.” Felicia grinned and winked at Cas. “Good luck out there, anyway. I am so looking forward to this. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You guys got the debrief on life here, but I can’t wait to get your side of the story, you know?”

Cas thought back to all the thankful comments he’d received, and all the heartfelt stories he’d heard from fans in the last two days. “Yes, I believe I understand that feeling.”

He’d lost track of what was being said on stage while talking with Felicia, until the crowd roared with applause and Jared and Dean stepped behind the curtain. A song that Cas had heard many times in the Impala played in the background while Richard began explaining the final panel to the eager audience. Cas tuned it all out in favor of focusing on Dean.

Jared patted Dean on the back, but Dean was nearly bubbling over with good spirits, or possibly adrenaline, or some combination of both. He pulled Jared in for a quick hug and a muttered _thank you, man._ Jared nodded and wished him luck as Dean found Cas and pulled him in for a hug, too.

Felicia watched, surprised at first by the open display of affection, before melting a little. She clasped her hands together under her chin, and said, “Awwww,” just loud enough for Dean and Cas to hear her.

Dean snapped back, “Shut it, Charlie,” and then realized he should’ve called her Felicia. He glanced around to make sure nobody else was paying enough attention to hear his slip, but he held tight to Cas the whole time.

“Is this a thing now?” Felicia asked, entirely pleased by Dean’s slip of the tongue and waving a hand at the two of them. “Because this looks like a thing.”

“I believe we’ve been instructed not to leak any plot developments you haven’t filmed yet,” Cas replied.

Felicia winked at him and grinned. “Gotcha. Spoiler-free zone. Mum’s the word.”

The noise from the other side of the curtain dropped to near silence, and then rose to a ridiculous pitch before dropping away to nothing again. Jared whispered, “Rich really has them eating out of his hand by the end of most conventions. He loves getting whole rooms full of people to obey him. Sometimes I wonder if he isn’t actually Loki.”

Dean laughed, but they all quieted down right along with the audience.

"Okay everybody, I know you’re excited for this next panel, but there are a few very important rules we need to discuss first.” Someone in the audience made an exaggerated whining noise and Richard scolded them. “I know I always wink-wink through the rules, and nobody ever listens to me anyway, but do you see me winking right now?" He pointed to his face and widened his eyes, letting them fill with menace, staring out into the audience like a vengeful and deadly-serious Rasputin. He twirled his finger around his own face for emphasis. "There is no winking going on here. Do we understand each other? Good. Then here are the rules.” He then began ticking them off on his fingers, one hand held over his head to make sure the audience was keeping up with his list.

“Absolutely Binding and Irrevocable Rule Number One: There will be absolutely no questions about anything to do with Jensen or Misha. Those guys aren't here today. It's just Dean and Cas.”

Dean huffed out a little laugh and shared a knowing look with Cas. If only Richard knew just how true that was.

“Absolutely Irrevocable and Binding Rule Number Two: You can only ask them about things that have happened to Dean and Cas. They won't answer anything about ‘being on set’ or ‘getting into character.’ Pretend you've been zapped into Supernatural Land, you are sitting down over a cup of coffee in the bunker, and they’re willing to tell you almost anything you ever wanted to know about their lives.

“And finally, The Binding and Irrevocably Absolute Rule Number Three: Let's try not to be hurtful, folks. These two have been through some awful shit. Let's try to show them a little love and keep this on the positive side. We want them to keep coming back to conventions, right?”

By this point, the audience had begun to realize the kind of experience they were in for. Jensen and Misha had never attempted to do anything like this before, and not only would it be a unique experience for the fans in attendance, it was theoretically going to be a difficult performance for the two stars they came to see. Richard had set exactly the right tone, and both Dean and Cas were grateful to him for it.

As Richard wrapped up his speech, the opening notes to _Whole Lotta Love_ played with increasing volume. He all but shouted at the audience. “Let’s hear it for Dean Winchester and Castiel! Come on, guys, you can do better than that! This is your big chance to let them know how you really feel about them! You know how much they need to hear it!”

The crowd was already roaring, but Richard didn’t do things halfway. Jared suggested they head up onstage before he incited a riot, and with one last squeeze, Dean let Cas go. They headed to the part in the curtains side by side.

When he saw Richard, even though he didn’t have a microphone and there was no way the crowd heard him, Dean yelled, “GABRIEL?!” and mimed an exaggerated fighting stance while reaching for the gun he normally kept at the small of his back. The audience went absolutely bonkers, and Richard snapped his fingers exactly how Gabriel would’ve and disappeared behind the curtain, leaving them to their fate onstage.

Cas had quietly made his way to one of the chairs in the middle of the stage and picked up his microphone, while Dean tried to keep a straight face as he tucked his imaginary gun away and scanned the audience like he was looking for the monster on a hunt. He grinned and then winked at them before Cas spoke into his microphone.

“Stop being ridiculous, Dean.”

Dean turned his grin on Cas and picked up his mic. “Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

The audience went nuts again, but Dean waved them down into a low roar.

“We heard you might have some questions for us.”

A resounding _YES_ rang throughout the room.

Dean made a considering face at them. “Do you think we can give them some answers, Cas?”

“I would be amenable to that, yes.”

“Awesome. So should we get on with it then? Who’s up first?”

The first woman in line at the microphone addressed her question to Dean. “So, how long did it take you to find your way out of Purgatory after you found Cas? I mean, was the portal right there, or did it take you a long time to find it?”

Dean didn’t much like talking about Purgatory, but with a quick glance at Cas, who gave him one of the microscopic smiles that most everyone else would miss, he knew it would be okay.

“Purgatory. Huh. Well, first thing you gotta know about that place is it’s hard to judge time there. You don’t eat, or sleep, or do much else other than fight and keep moving. So, best guess? Maybe a couple of months? Sound about right, Cas?”

“That is a close enough estimate, yes. You could’ve made it there faster if you’d let me draw off the Leviathan. We were forced to make several unforeseen detours to stay ahead of them.”

Dean gritted his teeth and took a couple of deep breaths. He could do this. “Yeah, but it was worth it.”

Various enthusiastic audience members shouted out _damn straight it was,_ and _of course_ , and similar sentiments.

Cas smiled a little sadly, but it was still a smile. “I agree.”

Dean smiled back and scooted his chair a little closer to Cas. The chairs hadn’t seemed so far apart when he’d been out there with Jared, but now the few feet between them felt like miles. “Okay, moving on from Purgatory now. Who’s next?”

The next person in line stepped forward. “This one is for Cas, along the same line as the last question, I suppose, but how long did it take you to find Dean in Hell? Sorry if that’s an awful question, but I’ve always wondered that. And thank you guys for doing this for us. I hope we aren’t making you too uncomfortable.” She then ducked her head and scurried off, as if she knew just how uncomfortable that question would make the both of them.

Cas looked a little panicked, so Dean scooted his chair close enough for him to reach out and pat Cas’s shoulder. Then he sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Hell. Now there’s some cheerful memories.”

There were a few shouted _Oh my Gods_ and even one _I’ll give you something better to remember, Dean_ from the audience, but their response was mostly sympathetic cooing,

Cas slowly turned to Dean, regarding him carefully, like he was trying to determine if Dean had finally cracked under the pressure. Dean held it together for three whole seconds before he cracked up laughing. So much had happened since Hell, and as happy as he was feeling, even that reminder wasn’t enough to ruin his mood.

“It’s a joke, Cas. I was joking.”

“There is nothing funny about Hell, Dean.”

“It’s either laugh or cry,” Dean replied with a shrug.

Cas shook his head and turned back to the now-chuckling audience to answer. “Time passes differently in Hell, so what may have seemed like months on Earth was actually decades in Hell. My garrison was given orders to retrieve Dean’s soul, but he was well hidden from us, and even more effectively guarded. It took many years to locate him, and even longer to reach him once we did.”

When Cas refused to say anything else on the subject, Dean gave him an out. He stood and put one arm around Cas’s shoulders. He had to fight the urge to lean in close and whisper thanks and love in his ear, because as far as the audience knew, they were still playing characters who were friends but nothing more. He was almost regretting his decision to play this game on stage.

“It’s all good, man. You got me out.”

The fans’ responses ranged from gleeful shrieks to joyful cheering, and the return of the kale contingent and their CASTIEL CASTIEL CASTIEL chanting.

Cas smiled appreciatively at him and nodded. Dean remained standing next to Cas, letting his hand slowly slide down Cas’s back in a soothing gesture that the audience wouldn’t be able to see. It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

“Who has the next question, then?” Dean asked, holding one hand against his forehead like a visor so he could see out beyond the stage lights shining in his eyes. Giving in to the inevitable, he hooked one foot around the leg of his chair, and dragged it over so he could sit right next to Cas. It was stupid for anyone to think they’d want to sit so far apart to begin with. For some reason, that simple action seemed to please the audience to no end.

The next question was a multi-part deal that Dean was more than happy to answer.

“My question is about all those awesome old cars you found in the bunker’s garage. Do they all still run? And if so, why does Sam keep stealing junkers when he needs a car? I know you probably wouldn’t choose to drive anything other than your baby, but isn’t it time Sam got his own cool car? I mean, even Cas has a regular car.”

Instead of returning to his seat, the guy stood at the microphone challenging Dean to come up with a valid explanation.

“Heh. Of course they all run. But not a single one of those beauties is what you’d call inconspicuous. Especially in a town of two hundred people. Everyone notices everything around there. It’s impossible to go incognito in a 1936 Ford, and we don’t exactly want to attract attention. We’re living off the grid, and we’d like to keep it that way. And Sammy doesn’t steal most of those cars. We buy old junkers and I make sure they’re at least roadworthy, and we trade them in on a frequent non-scheduled schedule, to quote an old friend. And we all do take the old girls out for a spin at least once a week when we’re at home, just to keep them purring. For legal purposes, there may or may not be an abandoned stretch of road a few miles outside of town where we may or may not go drag racing when the mood strikes. Just saying. My baby hasn’t lost a race yet. If any racing had actually happened, of course.”

Dean blushed and preened a little at the fans’ enthusiastic reaction to the mention of his baby. “So. Yeah. Moving right along, then. Who has the next question?”

A young woman nervously approached the mic. “Hi there.”

“Hello,” Cas replied, and smiled at her while Dean waved.

“Yes, my question is about the bunker. It looks very large, considering the small number of rooms we’ve seen on the show. You’re always running past closed doors, and I’ve seen rooms with pretty high numbers on the doors, up into the upper twenties. How big is it, and how many weird things have you discovered while exploring all the storage rooms and things?”

“Huh,” Dean replied, since he had no idea what rooms the tv audience had been shown. The last guy asked about the garage, though, so he figured they’d at least be familiar with the large communal spaces, and decided it didn’t really matter what he shared about the building itself. It wasn’t like anyone from this universe could do anything with the information anyway, other than write a new set into the plot of the show. Their secrets were well and truly safe there. Before he could answer though, Cas jumped in.

“Sam, Dean, and I each have a room of our own. Charlie has a room she stays in when she visits. The main living areas like the library and kitchen see a lot of use, as does the garage. As far as ‘weird’ goes,” And Cas did use the air quotes there, much to Dean’s and the audience’s delight, “Dean may be better suited to determine what fits that description.”

“Yeah. The infirmary was pretty weird. I don’t want to know what surgery was like back in the 1950’s, but we basically had to replace all the first aid supplies. We’ve catalogued and organized more storage rooms than I’d care to count, and pretty much everything in there could be called weird. As far as the weirdest, it might be the stone key that, among other things, turns any door into a portal to Oz. Just trust me on this one. It’s one freaky-ass key.”

“I’m still partial to the shower room,” Cas mused. “Consistently excellent water pressure.”

“And the gym. The gym is good, too.”

They sat there for a minute, staring off into space and thinking about home. Their reverie was interrupted by the next questioner clearing her throat to get their attention. The audience laughed when both Dean and Cas startled apart from where they’d unconsciously leaned toward each other.

“Yes. Hi. This question is two parts. Or, maybe one part for each of you? But for Dean, what was it like to be a demon? We never got to see you use many demon powers, other than basically being a much scarier version of your regular badass self. And the part for Cas is similar. What was it like being an angel? Did you have actual, feathery wings? And if so, what did they look like, like specifically what color were they?”

Dean shot a guilty look at Cas. He didn’t want to think about being a demon anymore, and he didn’t want a reminder that it was also his fault that Cas lost his wings, no matter how many times Cas denied it. Cas just smiled back, encouraging Dean to answer with a gentle pat to the back of his shoulder.

“Uh, um. Well, being a demon was about what you’d expect. It sucked. It was like I didn’t give a damn about anyone, like I’d been hollowed out and was just walking around trying to fill myself back up, but everything was about as satisfying as swallowing smoke and ashes. It just sucked.”

Cas rubbed small, soothing circles into Dean’s back with the tips of his fingers, and Dean closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it for just a second before he forced himself to go on. “As far as the powers go, I didn’t really use them. Every time I let that stuff out, even just a little bit, I seemed to lose a little more control, and I hate losing control. So, yeah, I was probably the shittiest demon ever. Good thing I’m human again, eh? Spared myself a world of embarrassment around Hell’s watercooler. Or whatever.”

The audience sat silently, some staring open-mouthed, as they experienced a collective chill at what they believed was Jensen’s emotional performance, but was in reality just Dean being honest. He still felt the audience’s tension and he felt compelled to break it if he could.

“And hey, technically I was an angel too, at least for a minute or two.”

A few people chuckled at that, but Cas had explained to him one day during a break in one of their first shooting lessons down in the firing range that it was, in fact, true. For the sake of the fans here today, Cas didn’t think it would do any harm to encourage a little more laughter, and offered a different opinion on Dean’s few minutes as an angel.

“I suppose that means you were technically _me_ for a minute or two, as well, then, since it was my grace that was responsible for your transformation.”

The audience laughed a little harder when even Dean laughed at Cas’s joke, though quite a few of them were huddled up and whispering together again. They were starting to make Dean a little uneasy. What the hell were they whispering about?

Cas took over his half of the question when he felt Dean finally relax against his fingertips. He spoke with an air of nostalgia, but there was no sense of regret. “Being an angel is like nothing else. In my true form, I was vast. I once likened my true size to the Chrysler Building, but even that was a poor comparison. There is no physical reference that can accurately describe what it was like to be a pure non-corporeal manifestation of the will of God.”

The audience was staring, rapt, listening to Cas try and put something indescribable and yet intensely personal into words. Even Dean was knocked a little off kilter trying to envision it, and he’d experienced the burn of Cas’s grace firsthand. When he noticed the effect he was having on the audience, Cas smiled and answered the rest of the question.

“As to my wings, when I took this vessel, my grace, like all angels, took on the form and function of wings. They were not visible on this plane of existence, but I could make them visible if I so chose. They would’ve resembled large bird wings with feathers. The upper feathers were the color of charcoal rubbed across a canvas, while the underside axillars were dark blue, fading to gray and black at the tips of the primaries.”

He’d answered so matter-of-factly and with such minute detail that everyone in the room was floored into speechlessness. Dean had only ever seen Cas’s wings as giant shadows, but damn, he wished he’d asked to see them just once before Cas gave them up, because they sounded fucking awesome. Cas looked around at his stunned audience, and then at an equally stunned Dean.

Dean thought back to the last question, and about him having been an angel for a few minutes and couldn’t help but wonder, so the question just came tumbling out of his mouth unbidden. “Does that mean I had wings, too?”

The was a wave of fascinated oohing and aahing from the audience as they suddenly became intensely curious about Dean’s two minutes of angelhood.

Cas tilted his head to the side and looked intently at Dean, to be sure that Dean understood he was once again telling the truth, not just making up stories for their fans. “Yes, Dean. They would’ve likely appeared similar to my own, but with green undertones instead of blue. The eyes are windows to the soul, but they also become a filter through which grace is expressed on the physical plane, and your eyes are green. Hence, green, gray, and black wings.”

“Does that answer your question?” he asked, looking around for the woman who’d asked it.

“Dude,” Dean replied, when it appeared the woman didn’t intend to ask for any further clarification. “I have more questions for you now.”

“I can talk to you any time, Dean. We should answer their questions first.”

Dean grinned and the audience laughed. “Whatever you say, Cas. Okay, next!”

“Hi Cas, thank you for answering that last question. Seriously amazing. But I’d like to know if you ever told Dean what Naomi did to you.”

Dean sat up straighter and glared at the questioner. “What, like with the brainwashing? Yeah.”

At the same time, Cas answered, “Mostly, yes.”

Dean whipped around to face Cas, forgetting everyone else in the room. “What do you mean, mostly? What did she do to you?”

Dean was becoming slightly hysterical, and Cas calmly shook his head and promised Dean he would tell him everything later, in private. Dean let his microphone fall to his lap and stopped caring what the audience thought about anything he did for the next minute or two. He leaned in to whisper in Cas’s ear, “I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

To which Cas replied, “No, but it’s of no import now, Dean. She is dead now, and at the time she thought she was doing the right thing. There is nothing that can be done about it anymore, so please don’t let that thoughtless question affect your happiness, Dean. Please, for me.”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Yeah, okay Cas. For you. And man, I want to kiss that look off your face so bad. Remind me to do that the second we’re alone, okay?”

Cas finally cracked a smile, feeling relieved, and asked for the next question. “And hopefully this one is less traumatic to answer.”

“Hi! And I’m pretty sure my question isn’t traumatic at all. Or I hope so, anyway. Okay, here goes. Two parts again, because that seems to be a popular trend,” the girl said, giggling at her own flustered attempt to ask her question. “What kind of things have you made in the bunker kitchen? And what do you want to make for Cas to try since he’s human again and it won’t just taste like molecules?”

Dean gave Cas a funny little look and mouthed the word _molecules_ in question, when Cas remembered a conversation he’d had long ago with Sam about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He shrugged and raised his eyebrows in a what-can-I-say kind of gesture, and explained for Dean’s benefit.

“I told Sam, after I… took on another angel’s grace, that I missed the flavor of food I’d experienced as a human. An angel’s sense of taste is markedly different, and it’s not the same when you can taste each individual molecule. It takes much of the enjoyment out of eating.”

“Ah,” Dean said, addressing Cas before turning back to the girl from the audience. “Yeah, I know about that. And because stuff tastes good again you figure he likes trying new foods?”

The girl nodded from where she’d begun the trek back to her seat, and dashed back to the microphone. “Yeah, and you like to cook, too, right Dean? So it’s probably fun for both of you. Right?”

Dean could feel his cheeks turning pink, but he answered her question honestly. “Yeah, I like cooking, and it’s good to have another guinea pig other than Sammy to be a taste tester. He’s my brother and everything, but sometimes I don’t trust his sense of taste. He actually _enjoyed_ an egg white omelette. And he wasn’t lying. So, yeah. Cas is a much better judge of good food.”

Cas smiled contentedly at Dean’s assessment. He’d only been human again for two months, but his favorite foods lined up pretty consistently with Dean’s, and cooking and eating were two of the most enjoyable activities they’d shared together. Well, until the previous night, at least. But Cas wasn’t about to share that information with an audience.

“Dean has been teaching me how to cook, but I mostly watch him prepare meals. He’s an excellent cook, and makes delicious burgers, and pies. He once mentioned that was one of his favorite things about having a proper home base, ready access to an oven so he’d always be able to bake a fresh pie.”

The audience laughed, and Dean and Cas were back on their happy, even keel as the next questioner stepped up to the microphone.

“Hi there guys! So this wasn’t what I intended to ask, but now that you brought up desserts, I just had to. Everybody knows how much you love pie, but lately we’ve seen you enjoying cake as well. Are you getting more comfortable with your fondness for other desserts?”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, pie’s the old standby. When you live on diner food, you learn pretty quick which things on the menu are reliably gonna be good, and which to avoid if you can help it. Most diners can at least manage a passable pie, so it’s usually worth the risk. But yeah, I’ll give pretty much any dessert a try at least once. In fact, I had some sort of frouffy raspberry cheesecake thing for dessert last night. It was awesome.”

Dean was grinning, while half the audience laughed and a substantial number of the fans began what appeared to be rather heated murmured conversations again. He couldn’t figure out if they were just trying to translate his answer for their friends who weren’t fluent in English, or if he’d maybe said something controversial about dessert. Either way, it still left him feeling a little uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Richard appeared back onstage and announced that there was time for just one more question. The audience replied with a groan and a few shouts begging for just a little more time. Richard tsked them all, and reminded them that the rules were the rules, and they had a closing ceremony to get on with after the last question.

He turned to the woman now at the microphone and said, “Okay sweetheart, you’re it. Make it a doozy.”

With that ominous comment, Richard retreated to the back of the stage to sit in the shadows, and Cas and Dean finally got a decent look at the woman standing at the microphone. It was the same woman who’d grabbed ahold of Dean at the breakfast panel and called him by name. The moment he recognized her again, Dean nearly dropped his microphone to the ground in his rush to lean in and frantically whisper into Cas’s ear.

“That’s her! That’s Rhiannon! Or, at least that’s the chick I thought was Rhiannon. Or her vessel, or whatever, THAT IS HER.”

Cas regarded the woman more carefully, but he wasn’t freaking out the way Dean was. He smiled knowingly and gave a little wave of his hand, which brought a smirk to the woman’s face.

“Do you have a doozy for us, then?” Cas asked, his smile widening into a grin as Dean groaned but sat up straight, doing his best to plaster on what might pass for a smile if it was really dark and you were standing a quarter mile away.

The woman’s smirk brightened into a grin. “I certainly hope so. You both have been sent to alternate universes where things were not exactly the same as they were in your own universe. Most notably, Dean, you were once sent to a world where you and Cas, and Sam as well, were fictional characters portrayed by actors bearing a striking resemblance to yourselves. Based on the theory that there are an unlimited number of possible universes, can you imagine one in which the actors who play the two of you on television were happily married to each other in their real lives? What would you think about that?”

Into the seconds of silence while the audience sucked in a collective gasp, Dean muttered _god fucking dammit_ barely loud enough for Cas to hear, before the fans realized what had happened and roared. It was clear that some of the fans had caught onto the obvious meaning of her question, and believed it was meant as a joke of sorts. Dean didn’t see it that way, though, and neither did Cas.

“Everyone out there laughing believes that you are Jensen Ackles, playing the role of Dean Winchester for an hour here today,” Cas said quickly, urging Dean to remember the truth of their situation before he let his irrational anger at being interfered with by a supernatural entity drive him into a rage. “They probably all wish they’d thought to ask such a question, to force us to talk about ourselves, or rather, for us as fictional characters to talk about the actors the audience believe us to be, and cleverly work Jensen and Misha into the narrative of the show, just as you and Sam met another version of Misha. Don’t you see, Dean? It’s brilliant. We can do or say whatever we wish without consequences, either for ourselves or for Jensen and Misha, simply because we _aren’t really them. And Rhiannon herself established the fiction for the audience. She wants us to be happy, Dean._ ”

Cas smiled up at Dean, hoping he could let go of his fear long enough to realize what Rhiannon had done for them. Whatever they said from then on out, it was just the word of a couple of actors poking fun at their own relationship using their characters’ voices.

“So what you’re saying is what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?” Dean asked.

Cas smiled. He’d seen the television commercial before, and Dean had explained what it meant. “Yes, essentially. But Alternate Universe Paris instead of Vegas.”

Dean took a deep breath, and puffed out his cheeks as he stared and Cas and thought about how to answer. “How you wanna play this?”

“Honestly,” Cas replied.

“We can do honesty,” Dean said, with just a hint of nerves pinching at his eyebrows. “That’s actually kinda refreshing. Honesty without consequences. Okay then. After you.” Dean picked up his microphone, and made a sweeping hand gesture ceding the floor to Cas.

“If we suddenly woke up in a universe such as the one you described, then there could theoretically be two potential scenarios that unfold; one in which we encounter the actors we resemble, and another in which they were unknowingly removed from their universe to be replaced by us. As you so kindly pointed out,” Cas gestured at Rhiannon with a smile, “Dean at least has already experienced the second scenario, and you have all seen how well that went.”

Cas gave the audience a dark look, remembering full well that Dean had told him that the Misha in that other universe had been murdered. He was relieved to hear the expected booing and shouting from the fans.

“So we should probably explore the first possibility instead, yes? If we were to meet two actors who looked and sounded exactly like us, and lived out our lives as a weekly television drama for entertainment purposes, but who happened to be married to one another? Did I get that right?”

Rhiannon nodded and the audience laughed.

“What would you think about that, Dean?”

Dean shrugged, still reclined comfortably in his chair. He trusted Cas, and he was even starting to trust Rhiannon. “Mazel tov, man. You find a bit of happiness, you hang on to it with whatever you’ve got. More power to ‘em.”

Cas smiled fondly at Dean, and then at Rhiannon, hooking his thumb at Dean, and saying only, “What he said.”

Rhiannon positively beamed at them, nodding once in satisfaction before melting back into the crowd.

Suddenly Richard surged forward from where he’d been sitting in the shadows, and leapt to the front of the stage. “That certainly was the sixty four dollar question, wasn’t it folks? It looks like we’re running a little late. So why don’t we take a moment to reflect on the weekend while we wake up everyone who fell asleep backstage before the big grand finale number?”

Richard didn’t even wait for the audience to reply before dashing over to Dean and Cas. “Excellent. Jensen,” he addressed Dean. “It is Jensen again, right? Because I could swear we had Dean Winchester in the flesh here for the last hour, right folks?” Richard said, turning to wave the audience up into a cheer again.

Dean smiled and nodded at Richard before taking a bow. If he was Jensen again, then he had every right to sidle up to Cas again, and he took immediate advantage of the fact by wrapping his arm around Cas’s waist and resting his forehead against Cas’s shoulder.

“And Misha, too!” Richard yelled over the crowd. “Your angel lessons are really paying off, man. Just how uncomfortable is it to cram an angel inside yourself like that? Because I swear you were channeling Castiel.”

Cas was only able to smile and wave at the audience, since Dean refused to let him go long enough to take a bow. Instead, they found themselves sort of awkwardly rocking back and forth as he tried to bow anyway.

“And the dancing segment of the evening seems to have started already folks! Cue up the music!”

Richard’s energy was boundless. Dean and Cas were ready to crash, and this little imp of a guy was still going strong. A moment later though, a Strauss waltz began playing over the PA system and Dean decided to just go with it. He’d seen enough movies about high school dances to at least fake his way through a comedic waltz. He grabbed Cas’s free hand and spun them across the stage, much to Cas’s confused delight. Dean smashed his cheek to Cas’s and held their arms out straight, dramatically prancing back to where they’d started in a mockery of a tango, while Cas tripped along beside him just trying to stay on his feet. It didn’t matter if they looked ridiculous because they had hundreds of people laughing right along with them, and quite a few performing their own weird dances in the aisles. It was all just so damned happy.

Gradually, the other actors began dancing their way up on stage one by one. Felicia and Jared attempted a dance, but he ended up just carrying her around the stage under one arm like a child carrying a teddy bear, which left the fans doubled over in laughter once again.

A new song started up then, Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas. Of course Dean knew all the words and felt compelled to sing along with it in the most enthusiastic manner possible, dragging Cas around in a fit of ridiculous dancing. Felicia joined them, and the three of them danced together until the song ended, and Richard thanked everyone one last time.

The next thing they knew, they were being shuttled backstage and into the green room until most of the fans had vacated the immediate area, for safety’s sake of course.

Dean led Cas directly to their spot on the little sofa where they’d eaten lunch. Instead of taking up two seats amid the large crowd, Dean pulled Cas down into his lap and hugged him close. He hoped if they looked sleepy enough, everyone would mostly leave them alone. It also gave him a built-in excuse for not understanding conversations with people he was supposed to be friends with. Not to mention, it was the perfect excuse to have a lap full of Cas. It was a foolproof plan with not one single drawback. He even had Jared fetching beer for them and Felicia bringing them pity cookies.

“We must look really pathetic,” Dean said, taking a bite of a delicate little chocolate butter cookie that Cas was feeding to him and washing it down with a mouthful of cold beer.

“Not pathetic, just drained,” Felicia replied, smiling but looking nearly as exhausted as they felt. “These weekends are spectacular, but the crash after is brutal. You’ll get over it. A little fresh air, a good night’s sleep, the inevitable hangover the next morning, and you’ll feel right as rain.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, the hangover part, especially.”

“I dislike hangovers,” Cas added, before taking another swig of his beer as Dean and Felicia laughed.

A security guard finally came by to give them the all clear to return to their rooms. The convention floor was officially emptied out.

Dean and Cas sleepily shook hands with the departing actors, most of whom had early flights back home the next morning, and were going back to their rooms to pack and rest before rushing off to the airport. At long last, the only people left in the green room were in the know, and Dean dumped Cas off his lap and onto the couch so he could stretch his legs.

“I think my foot’s asleep,” he said, shaking it out as he perused the few remaining snacks on the conference table.

“Walk it off,” Cas groaned with his face half buried in the couch cushions.

Dean smiled and did as instructed, walking back over to Cas and handing him one of the last two beers before clinking their bottles together.

“You doing okay?” Dean asked.

Cas pushed himself fully upright and assessed the entire weekend. “Yes, I believe I am. A little tired, and extremely hungry, but otherwise I am fine.”

Gen spoke up then. “We usually go out the night after a convention. It’s a relief just to get out of the hotel for a while after being cooped up for three days.”

“Yeah, you guys should definitely join us,” Jared said, tempting them with a terrifying replica of Sam’s puppydog eyes. “It’s just a quiet dinner, and then we might walk around a bit and take in the sights.”

Cas looked hopefully at Dean before Dean answered for them. “Yeah, I think that’s a great idea. We tried the whole walk thing this morning, but Cas swears this city is an entirely different place at night.”

“Ooh, then I’m coming too. My flight’s not until early afternoon tomorrow, and I so need to get outside for a while before I stuff myself into an airplane. Shoutout to past-me for planning ahead!” Felicia let out a little cheer and jumped to her feet. “So, where are we headed?”

“It’s Paris,” Jared shrugged. “I say we pick a direction and walk until we find something edible.”

Gen hit him on the shoulder. “It’s probably gonna be a short walk, then.”


	15. Chapter 15

The five of them settled on a quiet little bistro a couple of blocks from their hotel. They recognized a few of the other diners as people they’d seen around the convention over the last few days, but other than a polite smile and a wave, their fans mostly left their little group alone. At one point another diner tried to approach their table with a sheet of paper and a pen, clearly intent on getting their autographs, but the woman was stopped by a group of fans at another table who suggested that interrupting their dinner would be impolite, especially after they’d already spent three days giving their fans an extraordinary amount of access. The woman took one last, dejected glance at their table, but nodded and returned to her own seat. As a reward, Jared winked and gave a thumbs up to the fans who’d defended their privacy, which left the girls delightedly giggling.

After a delicious meal and entirely too much wine, they stopped by the tables where both groups of their fans were still finishing dessert and spent just a moment thanking them personally for their support, especially the woman who’d given up on interrupting their dinner.

Back on the street, Dean expressed his thoughts on the whole situation to Jared, who’d instigated their impromptu meet and greet.

“I guess you run into that kinda thing a lot, huh? Must make doing stuff next to impossible.”

Jared shrugged. “It’s one of the reasons I’m glad we’ve cultivated such an enthusiastic fanbase. It’s so worth it, giving up a few weekends a year and sharing as much of our lives as we do with the public. They feel like we don’t owe them anything else, and they don’t take kindly to people who step over the line. They’re rather protective of us, but we’ve been rather protective of them, too. It’s humbling, and a little overwhelming, but it’s definitely awesome.”

Cas was leading the way, being the most familiar with the city, and happily sharing his knowledge with Gen and Felicia as they peppered him with questions. Jared and Dean walked along behind them, not worrying where Cas was leading them. Cas would probably find that amusing after everything he’d said about breaking the world every time he was put in charge. For once in his life, Dean didn’t have to worry about cataclysmic world-ending disaster resulting from any of the choices they made. There was no demon stalking them, no angel hunting them down, and no metaphysical catastrophe looming if they happened to wander down the wrong street.

Dean couldn’t get over the fans and the life Jared and Jensen had made for themselves in this universe, representing the Winchesters in a way that had earned them fame and fortune instead of tragedy and a recurring spot on the FBI’s most wanted list. But even here, Dean felt a sort of justification for what their counterparts did and for the gratitude and love they’d earned from their fans. It was strange to think that thousands of people were moved and inspired by his life; people who cried for him when he went to Hell, who found inspiration in Cas’s defense of humanity against all of Heaven and Hell, who held Sam up as a hero for saving the world, and who found a reason to keep on living because of his struggle to regain his humanity against the Mark of Cain. These people _cared_ about him, even though to them he was nothing more than a fictional character made up for a tv show. It didn’t matter. They loved him anyway; or at least that’s what they’d all just spent the weekend telling him over and over again.

They’d been walking in silence for a few minutes when Dean finally said, “When we first got here and you said this was a convention, I had the absolute worst-case scenario going through my head.”

Jared laughed. “Yeah, we didn’t have Becky Rosen hosting, at least.”

Dean snorted. “I kind of expected a bunch of kooks sitting around talking about demons and shit, and pretending to be hunters. But you should know, the fans? Man, I get it. You don’t know how much I get it.”

Jared glanced thoughtfully at Dean for a second, and Dean tried to explain.

“All these people were here for you, and Misha, and Jensen, and the rest of them. They were… they obviously adore you guys. But then it hit me. They adore Sam, and Cas, and even _me_ , just as much. Or more, even. I don’t know. But _you’re_ Sam to them. You guys are half the reason they love us. You know? Back home we never get thanked. We live fucked up lives and it never seems to end. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for doing us justice in this universe, and for letting me and Cas share a little of the reward with you.”

Jared stopped walking, and Dean did as well, letting the others get about half a block ahead of them. “Dean, thank _you_. Seriously. Until yesterday I always thought we were just playing characters someone made up out of thin air. And now I’m standing here chatting with the guy who spent forty years in Hell and then stopped the big-A Apocalypse, and… and a former Angel of the Lord, for fuck’s sake. An _actual_ angel. And you were a demon! You’ve got the literal King of Hell on speed dial. You dig up graves, and kill ghouls, and live in a secret lair, and damn, I think you guys are actual superheroes, you know? And knowing that in some alternate dimension you guys are really out there, living through all the shit we play dress-up and act out? That’s the most awesomefucking thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. So truly, _thank you._ Because if it wasn’t for you, and Sam, and Cas, and Charlie, and everyone else, we wouldn’t be living the same lives here. All the fans wouldn’t be living the same lives they do, either. So all that love they shared with you? That really was for you, Dean. Just accept it. You are awesome.” Jared punctuated each word in his last sentence with a punch to Dean’s shoulder, trying to lighten the mood that had both of them choking on emotions they didn’t want to let out.

Dean had been studying the ground between his shoes, but when Jared hit him, he snorted and grinned, finally looking up at the duplicate moose that played his brother. There really was nothing else to say.

Dean pointed ahead at the figures of their companions more than a block ahead. Cas had stopped and turned back to see what happened to them. Dean waved to let him know that everything was good, and Cas waved back. “We should probably try and catch up, huh?”

Jared smiled and they set out, but their conversation continued.

“So this was kind of an educational experience for you and Cas.”

Dean laughed out loud, his mind providing a handy flashback to all the educational activities they’d engaged in the previous night. “Yeah, you could call it that, I guess.”

“I shouldn’t pry,” Jared said, desperately wanting to pry anyway.

Dean just shook his head, grinning down at the sidewalk in front of his feet. “I guess you probably see it as character research or some shit though, right? And fuck it, you’ll probably have it all in a script in a month or two. You probably know more about my life than I can remember anyway. I know some of those fans do.”

Jared laughed. “So if you don’t want to talk about it, I guess I just have to wait for the new scripts to start rolling out.”

Dean shook his head. They were almost caught up with the others now. “Sam would want to read the book first.”

“Yeah, but something tells me the book’s not going to tell the whole story,” Jared replied. “Some of the stuff you guys talked about today... that wasn’t in the show. If you take out the commercial breaks, we make about seventeen hours of Supernatural a year. We compress what you guys do in a year into less than a day. Lots of stuff gets left out. Even if this whole weekend gets an episode devoted to it…”

Jared stopped in his tracks and Dean didn’t even notice at first. His eyes were fixed on Cas, waiting just a few feet ahead now. It was the frown on Cas’s face that clued Dean in and made him glance back over his shoulder. Jared stood there dumbstruck, staring between them, until Gen called out to him.

“Honey, are you all right?” She took Jared by the arm and gave him a little shake.

Jared snapped out of his daze, and then looked right at Dean. “Yeah. I just realized that I might end up reliving this whole weekend, playing myself on Supernatural, meeting Dean and Cas, and helping them get through a convention in Paris. And the writers will probably think they got the idea from that panel you guys did in character, and that last question you answered…”

Cas had come up alongside Dean, who’d reflexively reached an arm around him and pulled him close. He had a silly smile on his face, and couldn’t help but give thanks where it was due. “You can probably thank Rhiannon for that, too. I’m sure she’ll find a way to insinuate herself into the production, probably playing the part of the convention guest who asked the question in the first place. She'd enjoy that, I think.”

Even Dean was smiling now. “Yeah. Trust me, this weekend has been the most interesting thing to happen to us in months.”

“So you’re saying the show’s gonna be pretty boring for the first few episodes?” Felicia teased. “But, this is exciting for me, because at least I know I’m gonna be in another episode now. Ooh! Do you think we’ll get a free trip to Paris for the filming?”

“Nah,” Jared replied. “They’ll probably just rent a hotel in Vancouver and give it a French name. It’s not like we spent all our time visiting recognizable landmarks they can’t mock up back home.”

Cas gave Dean a squeeze and grinned. “Maybe I can help with that. Follow me.”

He tugged Dean along and the two of them led the way to the end of the block. As soon as they turned the corner, they were face to face with the Eiffel Tower.

Felicia squealed and said, “Okay, quick, someone do something important enough that they have to write it into the show.”

Jared and Gen laughed, but Dean and Cas had already started walking toward the river, and the tower. Gen started to follow when she’d realized they’d already wandered off, but then stopped and held Felicia and Jared back.

“Check it out,” Gen said, tilting her chin toward Dean and Cas, walking with their arms around each other, their heads leaned in toward each other, completely oblivious to their curious audience. Dean threw his head back in laughter at something Cas said that they couldn’t hear, and then leaned in farther to give Cas a kiss on the cheek. “You know, they don’t have to put on the act that they’re Jensen and Misha anymore, but there they are.”

Felicia replied, “Yeah. There they are. Finally. I mean, really. Charlie’s been trying to nudge some sense into them for freaking _years_.”

Jared made a weird choking sound, and nearly yelled before remembering where he was. “ _Charlie’s_ been nudging them for years? What about _Sam_? He’s been living with it for almost a _decade_. Oh god,” Jared groaned. “I wonder if his life is about to get a little better, or a hell of a lot worse.”

Gen replied, “Knowing those two? I’d put my money on worse.”

“No! I’m sorry, Sam,” Jared shouted to the sky, the stars, and any benevolent deity who might convey his apology across the dimensions to his alter-ego. “I didn’t mean for this to happen to us. It’s probably all my fault.”

Felicia punched him in the arm and scolded him. “Hey, this is a beautiful thing we’ve done here. Never feel guilty about that.”

“Guys,” Gen interrupted. “Our beautiful thing is wandering off into the sunset. Like, literally. It’s getting too dark to see them, and I don’t think we should let them loose in Paris without chaperones.”

A few minutes after they began jogging to catch up, every light on the tower lit up at once into a golden glow. They caught up quickly after that, since Dean and Cas had stopped to admire the sudden light show. As soon as they all began walking again, the lights shifted, flickering and cascading around the tower’s girders while they all stopped to watch from their excellent vantage point on the quay across the river and several blocks away.

The show continued for several more minutes, and when it was through Dean asked Cas where they should head next.

“This way,” Cas replied, smirking at Dean and leading him off down the quay.

“You have a plan, Cas, or are we just wandering around now?”

“I might have a plan, but the plan might involve wandering around. I’ve never visited Paris in a human vessel to go sightseeing. I find I rather enjoy the experience. Everything looks so different now. I could appreciate the beauty of that light show simply because it was beautiful instead of seeing every electrical connection being made in each wire and bulb. It’s wondrous to observe the intricate and extensive lengths man goes to in order to program a ten minute light show, but seeing every spark and relay in the entire electrical system deprives the viewer of the intended aesthetic effect.”

“Is this like the molecules thing?” Dean asked, remembering what Cas had said earlier at their panel.

Cas leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder and sighed. “Yes, it’s exactly like the molecules.”

They walked quietly for a bit, until Felicia appeared at their side with a cheery, “Hey guys, how’s it going?”

“Wonderfully,” Cas replied, while Dean snorted but didn’t disagree.

“So if tomorrow’s your last day here, do you have any big plans? Because this is a big city. Lots to see.”

“I was thinking we should visit the Louvre at some point,” Cas suggested.

“Mona Lisa, glass pyramid thing from the DaVinci Code. Check,” Dean replied.

“Of course you’d find the movie reference to fit the location,” Felicia added.

“Hey, I read the book.”

“I know you did, Dean,” Cas replied. “I would also like to visit Notre Dame.”

“Huh,” Dean said. “You were probably there when it was built.”

Cas nodded. “I was there for some of it, but it took nearly two hundred years. I had other responsibilities.”

“What, were you some kind of heavenly job site foreman overseeing church construction?”

“No, Dean, it was a busy time. There were Crusades to keep up with, and Saint Francis founded his order. I liked him very much. He was also fond of bees, though he was always more interested in birds.”

Dean shrugged. “Each to his own, I guess.”

Felicia interrupted them again, unable to resist making some sort of comment. “You know, I talk to you guys and just when I start thinking you’re just normal folks, you say things like that and I remember that you are both about as far from _normal folks_ as it’s possible to get. _You_ were an angel,” she said, whipping around to walk backwards and face Dean and Cas, poking a finger at Cas’s chest. “You probably saw the planet congeal from a big squishy ball of goo before it had an atmosphere.”

“Yes,” Cas replied. “And?”

“And?” Felicia sputtered. “And, you’re like a bazillion years old, and you’ve seen _everything_.”

“Well, perhaps not everything, but many things, yes.”

Felicia nodded at that, staring at Cas in wonder, before turning to Dean when he laughed at her. “And _you_ ,” she accused.

“What did I do? I’m only thirty six! I haven’t seen shit.”

“First off, that’s a lie,” Felicia argued. “You’ve seen more shit than any thousand other people have. And I beg to differ on your age.”

“Hell years don’t count,” Dean grumbled, but he couldn’t really argue with the rest of her logic.

“Not to mention, you don’t even flinch at the things that come out of his mouth sometimes,” Felicia said, pointing an accusatory finger at Cas again.

“You get used to it after a while.”

“Huh. I guess so, but at least on the show, you’ve sort of just rolled with it from the start. Well, once you accepted the fact he was an angel and started paying attention to him.”

“Yeah, once I _got used to him_.”

“For normal people that would probably take years, and it would still throw them when he casually mentioned his old pal Saint Francis. You were all buddy-buddy with him after a few episodes.”

Dean and Cas both just stared at her until she threw her hands in the air and turned around to walk alongside Dean. “At least you finally seemed to figure it out.”

“What?” Dean asked.

Felicia just laughed.

“Figured what out? Hey! What are you talking about?” Dean demanded.

Felicia smiled and shook her head. “You guys are the best, really. Don’t tell anyone else, but I’m gonna miss you. Misha and Jensen are great, don’t get me wrong, but you two are a wonder.”

“Glad we could be so entertaining.”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s like watching a solar eclipse, or a meteor shower, or finding out that the Easter Bunny is real. It’s been a real honor to meet you both.”

Cas pointed to a large intersection just ahead of them. “We need to cross to the other side of the road as soon as it’s convenient.”

Dean craned his neck around to be sure Jared and Gen were keeping up, and found them walking just a couple of paces behind them, grinning at the conversation they must’ve overheard. “Yeah, yeah. Now shut up.”

“We didn’t say anything,” Jared replied.

“You were thinking something.”

Jared just grinned and turned to check for a break in the traffic before darting across the wide street with Gen in his wake. Once they all reached the other side, Cas took over the lead again, but stopped shortly thereafter.

“The Louvre is just on the other side of that garden,” he said, pointing across a vast intersection to a huge park.

“You guys want to come with us tomorrow?” Dean asked. “Get the full guided tour experience?”

“If you guys don’t mind the company,” Gen said. “We wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You would not be intruding,” Cas said. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Gen glanced at Jared, and he nodded. “We’d love to. Thanks.”

“I’ll be on my way to the airport, unfortunately,” Felicia said. “So you have to take a buttload of pictures for me and tell me all about it.”

“Absolutely,” Gen promised.

Cas led them down the next street they came to, and Dean recognized it almost immediately from the ridiculously wide sidewalks. Instead of grey pre-dawn light, the entire street had blazed to life under thousands of streetlights and a never ending array of well-lit shops and restaurants.

“Hey, is this the same street from this morning?”

“Yes, Dean. The Champs-Élysées.”

“Huh. You’re right. It does look different at night.”

They walked on, discussing their plans for the next day and reminiscing about the entire weekend, until Cas directed them down another side street that led them directly back to their hotel. They said goodnight to Felicia in the hallway outside her room, and there were several rounds of hugging and well wishes and thanks. She gave Dean and Cas each a hug that she instructed them to deliver to Charlie for her, followed by another round of hugs just for them, and then another for Sam. By the time they left her at her door to make their way to their own room, it was past midnight and their exhaustion had returned with a vengeance.

They made plans to leave as soon as they were all up and ready in the morning and bid Jared and Gen a good night before retreating to their bedroom.

“At least the hangover won’t be a problem,” Dean said, kicking off his boots once the door had closed behind him. “I didn’t have that much to drink and we’ve been walking forever.”

“You drank an entire bottle of wine and then had two glasses of whiskey with dessert,” Cas said, pulling off his own shoes and setting them neatly at the foot of the bed.

Dean shrugged, heading off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He’d been squeamish about using some stranger’s toothbrush at first, but then figured if they had identical fingerprints, they probably had identical mouth germs too. He’d run it under the hot water tap for about five minutes first, but it was better than nothing.

Cas joined him a minute later, having stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. They stood side by side at the sink, watching each other brush their teeth in the mirror. It felt ridiculously domestic, and something warm and tingling uncurled in Dean’s stomach at the thought.

They’d probably be back with Sam in less than a day. Hell, they’d only been away for two days, but in that short time everything had changed. Most of the people they’d met didn’t even believe they were real people, but still knew all about them. Not only that, but they _understood_. They forgave their mistakes and celebrated their successes. Dean was even starting to forgive himself. Hey, it’s kind of impossible not to after an experience like that.

Dean shut off the bathroom light and found Cas searching through the drawer in the small table next to the bed, poking through the contents until he found what he was looking for. He sat on the edge of the bed paging through a small guidebook provided by the hotel that listed the opening hours and addresses of various local attractions.

“The Cathedral opens at eight, so if we leave by seven and ride the Métro, or take a cab, we can find a café or a pâtisserie for breakfast.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said, sitting beside Cas to read over his shoulder, not even caring that he couldn’t make heads or tails out of the French. Any excuse to rest his chin on Cas’s shoulder would’ve done, and at least the little guide book had pictures to look at.

Cas flipped through a few pages, telling Dean about some of the other attractions it listed. Dean listened, mostly making agreeable noises whenever Cas stopped to turn the page and generally enjoying the sound of Cas’s voice.

One of the things he’d discovered in the last two days was that feeling the rumble of Cas’s voice in his chest was even better than just hearing it from a few feet away. Now that he was allowed and even welcomed to touch Cas whenever he felt like it, he figured he should just go in for the full experience. He stripped off his jeans and shirt, then climbed up behind Cas on the bed, one leg on either side of Cas’s. Dean wrapped his arms around his waist and propped his chin on Cas’s shoulder again, grinning when Cas closed the guidebook and turned to face him.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean shivered, feeling his name rumble through his chest in _that voice_ , and tightened his arms around Cas.

“It’s getting late.”

Cas still hadn’t moved, staring into Dean’s eyes from two inches away. “It is.”

“We should probably sleep. Lots to do tomorrow.”

“That is a reasonable suggestion,” Cas replied, but still, neither of them moved.

Dean kept his eyes on Cas and licked his lips. “You tired, Cas?”

He glanced down to Dean’s mouth and then back to his eyes. “Not particularly, no.”

“That’s good, because I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Dean felt like he’d been saving up kisses all day long and the dam had finally burst, forcing them all out in a devastating flood. Cas just opened up and swallowed it all, slowly pushing against the tide until the pressure between them stabilized and the rush of an entire day’s worth of unexpressed affections began to slow.

Cas twisted around in Dean’s arms, pushing him down to the bed with insistent hands, kissing his way down Dean’s neck and chest. Dean tried to lie back and enjoy the feel of Cas’s fingers and mouth trailing over his skin until Cas brushed his lips over his nipple, and then it was all over. Dean groaned, his hands grasping for any part of Cas he could reach to pull him closer. One hand landed in his hair, the other on the back of the t-shirt he was still wearing, and Dean tugged at it until Cas relented. He’d been balanced on his knees at the very edge of the bed between Dean’s thighs and had to stand up to pull off his shirt without falling. Dean followed him, sitting at the edge of the bed, grabbing his hips and holding him still while exploring the expanse of skin between Cas’s hips with his lips, and teeth, and tongue.

Cas held on, his fingers gripped around Dean’s shoulders as he desperately tried to keep his balance while Dean bit down on his hip. When he couldn’t stand it any more, Cas took a step back, dislodging Dean’s mouth with a wet pop to reveal a bright red mark surrounding an imprint of Dean’s teeth. Dean stared hungrily at his mark on Cas’s skin for a moment before raising his gaze to Cas’s face.

It took one look into Cas’s lust-blown pupils before Dean surged to his feet to pull Cas against him. They crashed together, mouths meeting in desperate, messy kisses, as their hands grasped and pulled as if they somehow still weren’t close enough. Dean rolled his hips, pressing his straining erection against Cas’s thigh, and realized what the problem was almost immediately.

He slid his hands down Cas’s back and under the waistband of his boxers, grabbing hold of his ass and grinding their hips together again. Cas threw his head back and moaned as Dean released him to tug off his boxers. Without Dean’s hands to support him, Cas stumbled, one foot sliding out on the guidebook he’d dropped when Dean first distracted him. With Dean’s hands still caught beneath his shorts as he fell backward, they both ended up sprawled out on the floor, Dean having freed his hands just in time to keep from crushing Cas as he landed on hands and knees above him.

Dean looked down into Cas’s stunned face, both of their hearts racing from a combination of arousal and fear, catching their breath and wondering what the hell went wrong. Cas’s eyes looked wild and panicked, searching Dean’s face for any sign that he was in pain, while Dean did the same.

“You okay?” Dean finally asked.

Cas took a deep, relieved breath and nodded, “Fine. You?”

Dean smiled and ran one hand through Cas’s hair, combing through the mess he’d made of it a few minutes earlier. “Yeah, fine.”

“This is a little embarrassing,” Cas said, still lying flat on his back but leaning in to Dean’s touch.

“Nah.” Dean slowly stretched out his legs until he was lying atop Cas. “Not embarrassing at all. Kinda hot, actually.”

Dean leaned in and licked along Cas’s lower lip before biting gently and sucking it into his mouth. Cas raised his hips against Dean’s, the friction and heat reminding them that they were in the middle of something before they’d ended up on the floor. When he thrust his hips up a second time, Cas followed through with the movement, flipping Dean neatly onto his back. Now that Cas was on top, he could take what he wanted without further interruption.

He straddled Dean’s hips, looking down into Dean’s eyes as he rolled his hips, sliding their still-clothed cocks together.

“Let’s try this again,” Dean said, sliding Cas’s boxers down as far as he could.

He took hold of Cas’s erection, rubbing around the swollen head with his thumb and then stroking the shaft in a maddeningly slow and gentle rhythm. Cas groaned above him, urging Dean to increase the pressure or the speed, or anything. In desperation, Cas began rocking himself against Dean’s hand, each movement grinding his ass down against Dean’s neglected cock.

“Dammit, Cas, please.” Dean tried to shove his own shorts down with his free hand, but Cas had him effectively pinned to the floor. He let go of Cas, hoping to get enough leverage with both hands, but Cas protested Dean’s sudden abandonment of his dick by grinding himself against Dean’s stomach.

“Why did you stop?”

“Because we’re still wearing clothes, and no matter how much I fucking want you right now, I refuse to finish this while wearing another man’s shorts. That’s just fucking wrong, man.”

Cas snorted but conceded Dean’s point. “I can see how that would be off-putting, yes. Fine. Get up.”

Cas stood first and then held out a hand to help Dean up. As he sat up, Dean’s heel caught on the forgotten guidebook once again, sending him right back down on his ass. At least this time Cas caught himself and managed to keep his feet under him.

Dean reached over and picked up the little book that had become a bigger cockblock than even his moose of a brother. He shuddered at that thought and threw the book toward the open drawer of the nightstand where Cas had found it. One corner of the cover caught against the edge of the drawer, knocking it loose from its moorings and sending the drawer and all of its contents crashing to the floor. Dean gave up and buried his face in his hands, growling out his frustration into his palms.

“Dammit, dammit, fucking dammit!”

Cas took one look at Dean sprawled on the floor mostly naked and pouting and bit his lip to keep from laughing. Instead, he dropped to his knees and replaced the drawer, and then began gathering the odds and ends from where they’d scattered across the carpet. Eventually Dean sighed and sat up to help. He collected a few of the items that had landed near him, and almost immediately found Jensen’s watch. It looked incredibly expensive, which was why Dean guessed he’d hidden under a bunch of tourist brochures, hotel stationery, and other impersonal detritus. He wasn’t about to wear it for fear he’d break it, or lose it, so he carefully slid it to the back of the drawer and covered it up the way Jensen had left it.

Cas had already collected nearly everything else when Dean reached for the last thing he could see-- a shapeless lump that had rolled into the shadows under the bed. When he pulled it out into the light, he had the ridiculous impulse to dig out the book that caused this mess and kiss it. All the blood in his body was suddenly racing back toward his flagging erection. He grabbed Cas by the wrist and slapped the bottle of lube he’d found into Cas’s hand. Cas looked from the bottle to Dean and then back again, trying to figure out what he was meant to do with it. From Dean’s devious grin and way he was suddenly breathing at double the rate and refused to let go of his wrist, Cas assumed he wasn’t supposed to put it back in the drawer just yet.

Dean tried to calm his breathing while shakily heaving himself to his feet without releasing Cas from his gaze. One gentle tug to Cas’s wrist and Cas sprung to his feet, definitely aroused again, yet not entirely certain why. Dean finally dropped his wrist so he could use both hands to strip off his boxers and crawl to the center of the bed, laying himself out on his back like an offering for Cas.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice had dropped even deeper than usual, but there was a lilt of questioning in there. Dean was happy to clear up his confusion.

“Just, get up here, Cas. Bring the lube, and leave the damn shorts already.”

Dean held one hand out to Cas, pinching at his own nipple with the other, before sliding it slowly down his chest while Cas watched, mesmerized. Dean stopped his hand low on his stomach when he realized Cas still wasn’t moving. “Cas? You coming?”

Cas groaned out something that sounded suspiciously like _not yet_ , and dropped his boxers while trying to climb onto the bed. He landed face first against Dean’s thigh, legs flailing around off the edge of the bed to untangle them from the offending garment snagged around his ankles. The second he was free, he dragged himself up Dean’s body, stopping to kiss and lick at spots that had brought Dean the most pleasure the night before; inner thigh, hip, and ribs, with special attention given to his nipples, before biting along his collarbone and lavishing attention on his neck. All the while he’d been gently stroking Dean’s cock, leaving Dean a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him, one of his hands gently tangling into Cas’s hair while the other clung tightly to his back.

“Cas,” Dean said, tugging lightly at his hair to get his attention. “Cas, stop. Stop or this is gonna be over embarrassingly fast.”

Cas actually blushed, ducking his face down against Dean’s shoulder, breathing hard and struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry, Dean. I… don’t have much experience at this, and…”

“Sorry?” Dean nudged Cas’s chin up so he could look him in the eye. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re just a little _too_ good at that, if you know what I mean.”

In the past, Cas would have said nothing, letting Dean assume he understood the joke. But now, he really _wanted_ to understand. “I… don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, if you keep touching me like that, I’m gonna come and this is gonna be over before I even get to kiss you, let alone get my hands on you.”

Dean recognized the moment Cas figured out he’d been complimented on his performance. “Oh. Oh!”

It was Dean’s turn to struggle for words. Not that he didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure what Cas wanted, or was ready for. He felt a little like they’d started out on chapter one of the gay sex rulebook and then skipped most of the stuff in the middle to go directly to the last page.

“Yeah. Oh. And I kinda thought I might want you, you know,” Dean pointed at the forgotten bottle in Cas’s hand as a visual aid, which seemed to just confuse Cas more. “Christ, okay. I want you inside me when I come. If… if that’s something you want. We don’t have to. But if you want to, I’m good with that.”

Cas furrowed his brow, studying the mysterious lube bottle, then searching for answers in Dean’s earnest face before flipping the bottle over in case the other side offered any new clues to what Dean expected him to do with it. It seemed he was in luck, and held the bottle closer in order to decipher the tiny print. He caught the key phrases, such as “increased pleasure” and “safe for oral, vaginal, and anal use,” and suddenly understood what Dean was offering.

Dean watched Cas carefully for any sign that he wasn’t interested in going all the way yet, because he wanted to be sure that Cas’s decision was based solely on what _he_ wanted, and not on what he thought Dean expected of him. He saw the moment of realization in Cas’s eyes, followed by a flash of what looked like worry that Cas had smoothed out into a wide-eyed look that could have been anticipation, but just as easily could’ve been nerves.

“If you don’t want to, we can do something else,” Dean suggested, trying to push every ounce of his sincerity into the words.

Cas shook his head, and for a second, Dean thought he was being turned down. He pushed himself up on one elbow and reached for Cas’s cheek with the intention of pulling him down for a kiss instead, but Cas stopped him halfway with a hand to his shoulder.

“I think I'd like that, Dean, but my experience is quite limited; and while I understand the mechanics of the act, I've never tried to implement that knowledge in any practical way.”

“Dude, never refer to sex as mechanical. Especially when you’re sitting naked on my lap. As for the rest of it, if you’re half as proficient as you’ve been about everything else, we’re in for a good time, okay?” Dean smiled, swiping his thumb back and forth across Cas’s cheek.

Cas nodded with a little more confidence, but was still obviously dealing with his nerves.

“The mechanical thing, that was a joke,” Dean reassured him. “It was supposed to make you laugh.”

“I see,” Cas replied, smiling a little more.

“And Cas,” Dean said, and then swallowed hard trying to untie the sudden knot that had formed in his throat at the mere thought of saying the next words. He still hadn’t been able to repeat them after he’d forced them out the previous afternoon, but if there was ever a time Cas was due for a reminder, it was now. When he had Cas’s full attention again, he looked him in the eyes and said, “I love you, okay? Don’t forget it. And that’s not gonna change. Ever. You’re allowed to be nervous. In fact, I’m nervous about this. But if you want to stop, say the word, and we’ll do something else. And I won’t love you any less for it. I promise.”

Cas nodded again. “Of course, Dean. I love you, and if I hurt you or do something wrong, please tell me so I can fix it?”

“Deal,” Dean said, leaning in quick and stealing a kiss before laying himself back down on the bed.

Dean lifted his hips and shoved a pillow under them, pulling Cas down on top of himself the same way they’d been lying on the floor. All the talking and unnecessary stress had left them both less than fully excited, but just the feeling of so much of their skin sliding together was enough to rekindle their interest.

Dean slowly shifted his hips side to side until Cas cooperated and let himself fall into line between Dean’s legs. He grabbed Cas’s ass and encouraged him to rock his hips forward, sliding their erections together between their bodies, until Cas took over completely, thrusting against Dean in a lazy rhythm. Cas duplicated the hypnotic glide of their rocking hips with his mouth, his tongue and lips sliding against Dean’s until they had to pull apart for a breath.

“Cas,” Dean croaked, clearing his throat. “I’m ready when you are.”

The worry from earlier was gone, kissed away into pure breathless desire. Cas nodded and slid down Dean’s body until he was kneeling between his thighs, searching the immediate area for the dropped bottle of lube. Dean pulled it out from where he’d inadvertently hidden it beneath the pillow under his hips and handed it to Cas.

“Just use plenty of that, and go slow. I’ll tell you what feels good, okay? I trust you, Cas.”

Cas nodded and poured some of the lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together to feel the strange, slick texture before deciding it felt slippery enough, and tossing the bottle aside.

“Don’t let that go too far,” Dean warned. “We’re gonna need it again before we’re done.”

Cas glanced over to see where it landed, and informed Dean that it was still well within reach. “Now stop worrying, Dean. I will not hurt you.” To prove his point, Cas slid one of his slick fingers around Dean’s tight hole, coaxing the muscles to loosen with the same slow pace he’d set with his hips. The memory of it was enough to make Dean’s cock jump, seeking the relief it expected from Cas’s body pressing down on him. Cas soothed him with one hand pressed to his hip before leaning over and licking from the base of his cock to the tip. “I made this body for you and I understand its limitations, probably better than you do.”

With that shocking little reminder, Cas pushed inside him with the tip of one finger, sliding it gently in and out, alternating the motion with a gentle swipe of his thumb around his rim. Soon enough, Dean was ready for more, and Cas inserted a second finger.

Dean lifted his hips up to encourage Cas to give him more, and the motion nudged Cas’s fingers against his prostate, sending a jolt of pure pleasure up his spine, back arching off the bed, erupting in a deep groan from his throat.

Cas was about to pull out, thinking he’d hurt Dean, when Dean thrust himself back down on to Cas’s fingers, desperately seeking a repeat performance of that little trick. Cas felt Dean relax around his fingers and inserted a third, and began to search for the magical spot again. He watched Dean writhe beneath him as he stimulated it over and over until Dean reached up and squeezed the base of his cock to keep from coming.

“Cas,” he panted. “That’s good. But I’m ready. I want you in me.”

Cas slowly pulled his fingers out and leaned forward to line himself up and press in, when Dean stopped him by squeezing his thighs together around Cas’s hips.

“Lube first,” Dean said, and Cas complied, slicking himself up and then looking around for somewhere to wipe the excess from his hand. He settled on grabbing hold of Dean’s cock and ridding his hand of as much of the remaining lube as he could with a few gentle strokes.

“Cas, I need you. Please. No more teasing.”

“Stop me if this hurts,” Cas said, and then staring into his eyes for the first sign that Dean was in pain, he slowly pushed into Dean.

He was as gentle and tentative as he’d been with his fingers before Dean encouraged him along. It was maddening for Dean, because he needed to adjust to the feeling of something so large moving inside him but he could already tell that Cas had prepared him well. There was a slight burn, but no real pain. Even the burn felt irrelevant when he looked up at Cas above him, balanced on his hands planted on the mattress on either side of Dean’s chest. The constellations in the blue of his eyes had been swallowed by black holes, his pupils blown wide enough Dean could barely make out the darkest ring of blue around them, like a thin halo of grace was still trapped in his eyes.

When Cas was fully seated inside him, Dean allowed himself a couple of deep breaths to relax and then nodded to let Cas know he was ready. Cas pulled out at the same maddeningly slow pace he’d set before, and pushed back in a little more quickly, a breathy and wondrous “ _Dean”_ falling from his lips. He gradually increased his pace without any further prodding from Dean, giving him a little more each time, gaining confidence that Dean was enjoying it as much as he was.

As Cas gradually let himself go, Dean adjusted his hips so that the head of Cas’s cock brushed against his prostate as often as possible. His hands sought out something to hold on to and once again found their way into Cas’s hair.

“You feel so good, Cas. You can go harder if you need to.”

“If I do, I won’t last much longer. You feel good, too, Dean. So good.”

Dean nodded and felt himself clench down around Cas as he nailed his prostate again. He dropped one hand down to stroke his own cock, knowing it wouldn’t take much to set him off now.

“Just do what feels good, babe. I’m with you.”

At that, Cas groaned and bowed his head, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in hard, snapping his head up to see Dean cry out _yesyesyes_ below him. He kept up the intense pace as long as he could before calling out Dean’s name in warning.

It was all Dean could do to nod, his orgasm rocketing through him as Cas’s hips stuttered against him before thrusting one final time and spilling over inside of him.

Cas’s arms finally gave out and he let himself drop to Dean’s chest, resting his head to one side to listen to Dean’s racing heartbeat as they caught their breath.

Dean’s free hand traced idly up and down his back, alternately massaging the back of his neck and then trailing down to the base of his spine and back again. Cas realized as he lay there, occasionally humming out a pleased sound like a contented cat at Dean’s touches, that this was quite possibly the happiest and most at peace he’d ever felt. Considering how long he’d existed, that was a rather stunning revelation. He didn’t even feel the need to ask Dean if he’d done a good job. Right then, with Dean’s arm around him and listening to his heartbeat slow to its normal rate, he knew.

Cas sighed and then raised his head to smile up at Dean. He smiled even wider when he saw the dopey and satisfied look on Dean’s face.

“Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“You doing okay there?”

Cas felt the warm rumble of Dean’s quiet laugh and laid his head back down. “Yes. Better than okay. Far better. You?”

“Same.” Dean leaned up to plant a kiss on the top of Cas’s head.

“Is this an appropriate time to remind you how much I love you?” Cas asked, propping himself up to face Dean again.

Dean felt himself begin to tense out of habit, but staring into Cas’s eyes, he let it melt away and nodded. “I’d have to say yeah, it’s a perfect time.”

“Huh. In that case, I love you, Dean. More than anything else in this, or any other, universe.”

“I, uh, I love you too.” Dean held his gaze, knowing the words were true-- and knowing he’d already said them-- but still fighting the urge to squirm away. It would probably be a long time before the hesitance around those words would disappear completely, but he could fight it now that he was sure Cas would always love him back.

Cas stretched up to move in for a kiss, but the movement pulled him the rest of the way out of Dean, leaving a trail of sticky drying come along Dean’s thigh. When Cas sat up to investigate, his stomach peeled away from Dean’s, revealing Dean’s other hand where it had been trapped between them and covered in come.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “This is the part no one writes poetry about. Would you mind getting a damp washcloth to clean this up?”

Cas laughed, but did as Dean asked, wiping himself down quickly before carefully and thoroughly cleaning Dean, as well.

“I set the alarm for six so we have time to shower in the morning,” Dean said, pulling Cas down beside him and chucking the damp washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom.

They were settled under the blankets, curled together and drifting off, when Cas asked, “Do you still require four hours of sleep?”

“Yeah. More when I can get it, but I do just fine with four. Why?”

“I was wondering if we might have time to do this again in the morning, before we shower.”

Dean groaned and hugged Cas tighter. “I think I’m already gonna be sitting funny tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow night.”

“No, Dean. I meant with you inside me.”

Somehow, Dean didn’t think a shout of _oh, hell yeah_ , at the top of his lungs at five minutes to one in the morning was the appropriate way to convey his enthusiasm for Cas’s suggestion, so instead he calmly said, “I think that can be arranged,” as he rolled over to reset the clock.


	16. Chapter 16

When the alarm went off four hours later, Dean rubbed at his eyes with one hand as he groped around the dark to smack the alarm off with the other. As he opened his eyes and remembered he was still in a hotel room in Paris and not in his underground room at the bunker, he realized something was wrong. Cas had been asleep on his shoulder, Dean’s arm tucked tightly around the other man as he drifted off hours earlier, and he’d woken up feeling a little cold and lonely without Cas pressed against him. They’d only been sharing a bed for two days and already it felt strange without him there.

Dean soon noticed that the light was on in the bathroom, glowing out into the room through the half inch gap between the the bottom of the door and the floor. Cas had obviously been more successful at slipping out of his grip than he’d been yesterday at sliding out from Cas’s clingy octopus hold.

As long as Cas wasn’t in bed demanding his immediate attention like yesterday, he figured it would probably be polite to brush his teeth before engaging in anything heavier than a good morning kiss. He stretched, got out of bed, and knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, Cas, you in there?”

Dean heard water running, and then Cas called out, “Yes, Dean. Come in.” Cas finished rinsing his toothbrush and set it in the glass on the counter as Dean slid up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“You been up long?” Dean asked, watching Cas’s reflection in the mirror as he dropped his eyes.

“No, not very long. I was just finishing in here and was about to go back to bed.” Cas hesitantly raised his eyes to Dean’s in the mirror.

Dean released him, turning him by the shoulder, a little worried by Cas’s reluctance to look at him. “Are you okay? Because I was kinda worried when I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Cas finally smiled, and Dean was relieved. He leaned in for a quick good morning kiss, pulling back and licking his lips.

“Mmm, minty,” Dean said. “Which means I probably taste gross, so lemme just…” He turned to the sink and began brushing his teeth, but Cas stayed where he was and watched.

“I’m sorry to have worried you, but… “ Cas trailed off.

Dean spoke around his toothbrush, “But what?”

Cas took a deep breath, lowered his eyes again and said, “But I wanted to be ready for you.”

Dean kept brushing while considering the return of Cas’s sudden inability to look at him. After all, it was one of Cas’s best things. He was a champion Dean Starer. And then Dean remembered why they’d set the alarm so early. He nearly choked on his toothbrush, spat out his toothpaste, and shoveled a few handfuls of water into his mouth to rinse.

Cas watched Dean flail at the sink and grinned. “Yes, Dean. You seemed to enjoy the way I prepared you to receive me, but I’ve never done anything like that before. I thought it would be best if I had some idea of what to expect.”

Dean wiped his mouth on a towel and closed his eyes for a moment to compose his thoughts. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been in here fingering yourself?”

Cas nodded. “And brushing my teeth.”

“And?”

Cas tilted his head, a little confused. “That was all.”

Dean closed his eyes again and leaned his forehead against Cas’s. He fought with himself to keep calm and ignore the images his imagination insisted on generating to taunt him with. “No, I mean, did you... do you know what to expect?”

Cas smiled, stealing another kiss before Dean opened his eyes again. “I have a much clearer picture of it, yes.”

“I guess that’s a good thing.”

Cas nodded. “Yes. And I now fully understand and appreciate the value of lubricant.”

Dean laughed, grateful to Cas for breaking the tension. “Yeah. Guess we’re gonna have to stock up when we get home.”

Cas reached over and picked up the towel he’d left on the counter, revealing the bottle of lube they’d found last night. “We should also find a drug store while we’re out today and replace what we’ve used.”

A wicked grin grew on Dean’s face. “Yeah. I have plans for the rest of that.” He took Cas by the hand and led him back to bed.

Dean started slowly, reclining in bed and pulling Cas into his lap, kissing him gently. This time Cas was the impatient one. After only a few minutes, he groaned and slid away from Dean, rearranging the pillows and kicking the blankets to the foot of the bed. He laid himself out the same way Dean had, hips propped up on a pillow, which Dean found amusing.

“Am I going too slow for you?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Speed is not the issue, Dean.”

“What,” Dean said, crawling atop Cas, “You tired of kissing me already?”

Cas leaned up, bracing himself with an arm around Dean’s neck, and demonstrated how not-tired of kissing he was. “No, but I am ready, and you appear to be ready as well.” Cas reached down and grabbed Dean’s erection, trailing his fingers around the crown.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and rasped out, “Yeah, but there’s more to sex than… than the sex, you know?” He had to fight not to make a lie of his own words by thrusting into Cas’s hand.

Cas let him go and Dean opened his eyes again, breathing harder from the effort to stay in control of himself. Cas seemed pleased with the effect he’d had on Dean. “I understand that, Dean. You’ve demonstrated it to me admirably.”

Dean smirked, raising an eyebrow. “That is the Dean Winchester Experience.”

“Right now, though,” Cas grabbed his cock again to emphasize his point, “I would like this particular experience.”

Dean hissed in a breath through his teeth and nodded. “Noted.”

Cas smiled and released him again to hand him the lube instead. Dean laid himself down along Cas’s side, reaching down with slickened fingers to prepare him. He inserted one finger with surprising ease, and after only a few seconds, Cas asked him for more. He narrowed his eyes at glared at Cas.

“You were in the bathroom for a while this morning, weren’t you?”

Cas shrugged. “Not very long, but I was thorough.”

Dean dropped his head to Cas’s shoulder. “In that case…”

He leaned up to give Cas a kiss. In the same movement, he pushed his fingers in deep, crooking them and finding Cas’s prostate, as Cas cried out into his mouth, thrusting his hips up into the air in a desperate effort to find some relief from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Guess you weren’t that thorough,” Dean teased. “I think I’d have heard about it if you were.”

“Dean! Do that again, please.”

He did. But Cas was right, he was ready, and now so was Dean. Cas whined when Dean pulled his fingers out, and writhed at the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness. He gave Cas one more thorough kiss and then slid over his thigh to settle between his legs.

While he poured out the last of the lube, he asked Cas again if he was ready, if he was sure.

“Yes, Dean. Of course I’m sure.”

Dean nodded and lined himself up, teasing at the rim. The moment Cas opened his mouth to issue another complaint, Dean pushed in, and Cas’s mouth dropped all the way open. He slid in slowly, watching every feeling flicker across Cas’s face. When Cas had grown accustomed to the heavier sense of fullness-- very different from his own fingers, or even Dean’s fingers-- he nodded and Dean took that as his cue. Cas had gone slow with him, so he began the same way with Cas, building a gentle rhythm.

Dean stared down at him, committing every reaction to memory and then trying to coax out new ones, which Cas was eager to help with. He wrapped his legs around Dean, raising his hips even higher until Dean was hitting his prostate with nearly every thrust, drawing out a string of noises that Dean was pretty sure he recognized as Enochian.

Cas pulled Dean down by the shoulders, giving him a sloppy kiss as Dean struggled to keep pounding into him, trapped as he was by Cas’s legs. Before he realized what had happened, Dean found himself lying on his back with Cas astride him, rolling his hips and then slowly raising himself up before slamming himself down again, throwing his head back at the sensation. This time it was Dean who cried out, his hands clenching down on Cas’s thighs and his hips rising off the bed, carrying Cas with them.

Cas took one look down at Dean, raised his hips, and waited until Dean thrust up into him. Working together, it didn’t take long to find a rhythm that had them both on the edge. Cas arched his back, supporting himself with his hands on Dean’s thighs, ignoring his own cock in favor of devoting his full attention to Dean’s. Dean couldn’t ignore it, though, bouncing against his stomach and leaving sticky droplets of precome on his skin with every thrust. He grabbed hold of Cas’s cock, and Cas groaned, grinding himself down harder

“Oh, Dean.”

Dean quickened his pace, driving his hips relentlessly up into Cas, until he wasn’t sure he could hold on any longer. “Come on, Cas. Come for me.”

Cas screamed, clenching down around Dean’s cock and covering his stomach in hot splashes of come as Dean drove home one last time, coming as deep as he could, the rhythmic spasms of Cas’s body pulling every last drop from him. Cas shivered above him, staring down at Dean with a sleepy and sated look.

Dean slid one hand up Cas’s side, drawing him slowly down before he toppled over. He slumped against Dean’s chest with a contented hum, tracing patterns into Dean’s shoulder with his fingertips. Dean ran his hand along the cooling sweat on Cas’s back and he shivered again.

“We should shower and get you warm,” he suggested.

“I am warm, Dean. Very warm.”

Dean hugged him tight. “Not for long, babe. We’re gonna be cold and gross in a minute or two, here. Come on,” he planted a kiss on Cas’s forehead. “Shower, then coffee.”

“Not yet,” Cas said, clinging tighter to Dean.

Dean choked down a little noise he was sure wasn’t a laugh, but sounded way too much like a sob. He wasn’t sure he’d ever fully believe how much Cas actually wanted him. All he could do was hold on, bury his face in Cas’s hair, and breathe him in until he could get his voice back under control. With Cas pinning him to the bed and lazily running his hands over his skin, it took far less time than he thought it would.

“So, I guess that met your expectations?” Dean teased.

Cas nodded against his chest. “That far surpassed my expectations, Dean.”

Dean laughed. “Same here. I definitely didn’t expect you to be so pushy.”

“I believe I may have gotten a bit... carried away in the moment.”

“That’s the whole idea, Cas.”

Cas smiled, and leaned up for a kiss. “Thank you, Dean.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

***

Half an hour later, they were showered, dressed, and sitting out in the living room, waiting for the coffee and juice they’d ordered. It was still too early to leave and go touring around the city, even if Gen and Jared had been up. They’d agreed to eat breakfast out, so they hadn’t ordered the platters of pastries and fruit that Gen had been getting every day. Coffee, though, was a necessity.

Just before seven, Cas was reclining against Dean on the couch and enjoying his second cup of coffee while paging through the little tourist guidebook. Dean sipped his coffee, idly running his fingers through Cas’s hair while he corrected various historical notes in the book, occasionally finding himself just staring down at Cas with a dopey grin on his face. He wished there was a way to bring that book home with them as a souvenir. Every time he thought about it-- the sound of Cas’s voice commenting on its pages, the trouble it had caused, and the discovery it inadvertently led them to-- a shudder ran through him as the rest of the night’s activities played out in his memory.

Dean had zoned out into one such reminiscence when Gen emerged from her room, startled to find them awake and ready to go. Dean blushed, and fought the urge to snatch the tourist guidebook from Cas’s hands, inexplicably as embarrassed by it as he would’ve been if Gen had caught them watching porn, or worse.

While Dean recovered from his momentary lapse of reason, Cas sat up and tucked the book into his pocket. “Good morning, Gen. There’s coffee and orange juice if you’d like some.”

Gen smiled and fixed herself a cup before sitting on the couch across from them. “Are you guys so addicted to caffeine you couldn’t wait a few minutes for breakfast?”

Dean shrugged, wrapping his arm around Cas’s shoulders and settling back against the cushions. “We’ve been up for a while. We didn’t want to rush you guys and figured we’d just hang out until you were ready to go.”

“Jared’ll be out in a sec.” She took another sip of coffee, fighting off her own grogginess after their late night, when it hit her. “You’ve been up for a while? How can you two be so chipper on less than six hours of sleep?”

Dean huffed a deep laugh, while Cas answered, “I believe it was closer to four hours, if that makes a difference.”

“You get used to it,” Dean said.

Gen just studied them, smirking into her coffee, wondering how they’d spent the rest of their night since they hadn’t been sleeping. Jared appeared a minute later, declining coffee in favor of finding a proper breakfast.

Dean stood, stretching the kinks out of his back before turning to offer a hand to Cas. “What’s the plan, Mr. Tour Guide?”

Jared spoke up before Cas had a chance to. “As long as the first stop has food, I’m down for anything.”

Gen punched him in the side, grinning at her husband. “Sam would be so disappointed in you right now.”

Dean laughed, following Cas to the door. “She’s not lying, man.”

***

After finding a satisfying breakfast at a little cafe a few blocks away from Notre Dame, they were first in line to enter the cathedral when the doors opened. They followed Cas around as he pointed out interesting features, occasionally telling stories about things he’d seen while the building was under construction. At one point, another tour group passed them by while Cas was reminiscing about the installation of one of the stained glass windows, garnering some strange looks from the tourists, and a rather scathing look from their guide. Dean smirked and gave them a little wave. He knew he was getting a better tour than they could ever dream of. It gave him a little thrill, standing in this holy place with an angel, no one else any the wiser.

An hour later they were walking along the river towards the Louvre, filling Cas in on some of the more humorous reactions his stories had inspired in the people who’d overheard him.

“I don’t understand,” he said, as Jared, Gen, and Dean tried to recreate some of the more entertaining looks of surprise and disbelief they’d witnessed. “Is there some joke I missed?”

Dean got his laughter under control, balancing himself with a hand on Cas’s back. “You were telling us about stuff you saw almost a thousand years ago, Cas. Maybe they all thought you looked good for your age, but most of them probably thought you were some kind of religious nut.”

“I was an angel, Dean. I am far older than a thousand.”

“Yeah, but hardly anyone is gonna believe that, especially in this universe where there really aren’t any angels.”

“Oh. I see.” And this time, he really did. “I’ll be more careful in the future, then.”

Dean tugged him close, grinning. “It doesn’t matter to me. I like your stories, and I won’t let the guys in white coats haul you off. I got your back.”

Cas smiled up at Dean and led the way around to the main entrance to the Louvre. “Thank you, Dean.”

They bought their tickets and then spent the next four hours following Cas from exhibit to exhibit as he shared details about everything from ancient Etruscan pottery to Renaissance paintings with equal delight. At least until they rounded the corner into a broad, cavernous staircase.

Cas looked up to the top of the gallery and froze for a second before taking a deep breath and trudging up the stairs with his head bowed. Dean thought he understood. At first glance, the huge winged statue that dominated the room looked enough like an angel to have made Cas do a double take. Dean took the stairs two at a time to catch up to Cas, while Jared and Gen hung back to give them a little space.

Cas stood at the base of the huge statue, craning his neck to admire the details of her wings. Dean sidled up next to him, gently taking his hand.

“There are limitations to what can be represented in a stone carving, no matter the skill of the artist,” Cas said. “Her actual wingspan was much greater.”

“She was someone you knew?” Dean asked in a quiet voice.

Cas nodded. “The ancient Greeks knew her as Nike, but she was once my sister, long before that.”

“So she went on sabbatical from Heaven, like Gabriel?”

“Something like that. She fell, eventually, much like Anna did. I never heard anything more about her after that. I hope she had a good life.”

Cas reached out to lay a hand on the stone at the base of the statue, to the dismay of one of the uniformed guards. Dean just glared at the guard until he cleared his throat and looked away. Dean leaned in to Cas and spoke in a near whisper.

“You feeling the loss of your wings?”

Cas smiled sadly and turned toward Dean. “No. Well, maybe a little.”

Dean looked up at the statue-- still incredible even with several important pieces broken off and lost to history-- and then back to Cas. “You might not have wings anymore, but at least you still got your head. And your arms.”

Cas snorted, finally roused from his melancholy. “And I have you, Dean.”

Dean felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and fought the urge to bury his face against Cas’s shoulder. “I’m a pretty shitty trade for a set of wings and immortality, Cas.”

“Lies,” Cas said. “If my father appeared before us right now and offered me my grace back without consequence, I would turn him down. I chose you, Dean. I want to be human with you. I understand why she fell now,” he pointed up at the statue. “I only hope that she was as happy with her choice as I am.”

“Yeah,” was all Dean could manage to say to that.

They stood there paying their silent respects for a minute or two, and then turned to find Jared and Gen admiring the statue from a short distance away.

“How about we get some lunch, and then find somewhere else to explore,” Jared suggested when Dean and Cas rejoined them.

Dean would never argue with lunch, but he deferred to Cas as both their tour guide and the one who’d just had a sad little family reunion of sorts. “Anything else you wanna see here, Cas, or are you ready to go?”

He took one last look back at the statue of his fallen sister and then smiled at Dean. “Lunch sounds nice.”

“Huh. Of course it does,” Dean replied. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

“It’s ‘lay on,’” Jared said.

“What?”

“Lay on, MacDuff.” Jared repeated, and then shrugged. “That’s the quote.”

Dean squinted at him, wondering if maybe Jared had been temporarily possessed by Sammy. “You sure you’re not my brother?”

Jared laughed. “Nah, my mom’s an English teacher. I know my Shakespeare.”

“Guess so. So are we going yet, or are we gonna stand here and starve to death?”

“You are in no danger of starvation,” Cas replied, but took Dean by the hand and led him down the stairs.

***

They walked through the long park Cas had pointed out to them the night before. It looked a lot more welcoming during the daylight-- especially the carnival set up all along one side of the garden. Dean dragged everyone that way in search of some of his favorite foods.

“How different can carnival food be in France?”

Cas laughed and let Dean lead the way for once. They ate their way down the midway, emerging stuffed and ready to walk off the ridiculous amounts of food both Dean and Jared consumed. Cas and Gen had watched helplessly as the other two seemed to take it as a personal challenge to try and out-eat the other.

“Just be glad we’ve got a mile of walking ahead of us, you jackass,” Gen said to Jared when he complained about having eaten too much.

Dean turned to Cas and grinned. “Guess that means I won, hey?”

Cas just shook his head and laughed.

***

They crossed the river and walked at a leisurely pace along the Quay d’Orsay toward the Eiffel Tower, taking turns asking about each other’s lives. Jared tried to keep his questions on the less traumatic end of the spectrum. No matter how much he would’ve loved to hear a firsthand account of Hell, or Purgatory, or even Heaven, he felt it would’ve been beyond cruel to ask. Instead, he asked about practically every monster he could think of, what their weirdest hunts had been, and what he could expect to be hunting over the next few months when they began filming new episodes.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to give you spoilers?” Dean asked with a cocky grin that made Jared aware that he was teasing him.

“That was mostly for the fans, Dean,” Jared said. “But I guess it’s fair to assume you and Cas are still alive and well, since, you know, you’re both standing right there, alive and well.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. We spent about a month holed up in the bunker recovering and teaching Cas how to hunt. Ever since then, we’ve been taking case after case without a break. A werewolf, a nest of ghouls, couple’a salt and burns. Standard stuff, mostly.”

“So the season premiere will probably run like a touch-and-go medical drama,” Gen joked.

“And then an episode of domestic shit and weapons training,” Jared added, nodding. "Then a few monster of the week episodes."

“Culminating in the grand mid-season finale where Cas and Dean have a fortunate run-in with a benevolent goddess who zaps them here. Yeah, I can see it,” Gen said.

Jared shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe they’ll play it the other way around and show Jensen and Misha getting zapped to hang out with Sam for a few days instead.” He shuddered, thinking about his friends trapped in Dean and Cas’s world for the last three days, where practically every monster in the land would recognize them on sight. “I wonder if they’ve run across anything supernatural while they’ve been stuck there?”

“Sam will keep them safe,” Dean assured him.

“I’m sure Rhiannon would not allow any harm to come to them, either,” Cas added.

“They’ll probably be back here, safe and sound in just a few hours,” Dean said, checking the clock on Jensen’s phone before stuffing it back in his pocket. It was already after three o’clock, and he figured they had at most twelve more hours before they were sent home. It got him thinking about how they’d arrived here, landing in the exact place-- in the exact _state of undress--_ that Jensen and Misha had presumably been in when they were swapped out.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked. “You think when we get switched back to our universe, Jensen and Misha will show up here exactly the way we left?”

Cas tilted his head, not sure if he’d understood the question. “Are you asking if I believe they will be returned to the exact spot from which we will be taken?”

“Yeah. Like, when we got here, we were in the exact place they'd been, and… uh… we were...”

“Naked, you mean?” Cas grinned, finally understanding what Dean was asking.

“Yeah,” Dean said, trying to hurry past that in hopes that Jared and Gen hadn’t overheard it. It wasn’t any of their business, so he lowered his voice and hoped the traffic noises were enough to drown him out completely. “I figured, they’re married, right? Maybe they’d be glad to know we finally got our heads out of our asses and… you know.”

“You think they will be pleased to know that they’ll be able to express elements of their personal relationship on their television show,” Cas said, nodding as he began to fully comprehend Dean’s plan. “And you think they’ll draw that conclusion if they return and find themselves, say, naked and in bed together?”

Dean grinned broadly, “Yeah, Cas. Plus, it has a certain symmetry to it.”

Cas laughed and Jared and Gen asked what was so funny, but neither he nor Dean could explain it, and just laughed harder.

***

Dean absolutely refused to go up the Eiffel Tower, on the grounds that it wasn’t even a real building, just a bunch of overgrown tinkertoys haphazardly stuck together. He didn’t even want to walk underneath the structure, but Cas convinced him to at least stand by one of the legs so Gen could take a picture of them.

“I wish we had some means of taking these pictures home with us,” Cas said as Dean took a few pictures of Jared and Gen. “Sam would love to see them. I would love to see them again.”

“Aw, maybe we can come for a visit sometime,” Dean said. “We flew to Scotland once for Bobby. It sucked, but for you I’d get on a plane to come back. You never know, our Paris might be a monster-infested dump compared to this one. Might be fun.”

“You have a very strange definition of fun, Dean. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I’d do a lot for you, Cas. It’s not sentiment, it’s just the truth.” Dean shrugged. “And flying to France can’t possibly be as terrifying as facing down a pissy archangel, and I did that when you asked me to.”

Cas just nodded, handing Gen’s camera back to her as she and Jared wandered back over.

“So, what’s next on the list, Cas?” Jared asked, finally looking recovered from lunch. “Anywhere else you want to go?”

“It’s less than a mile back to our hotel from here, but we can make any detours you’d like along the way,” Cas said. “I assume you and Dean will not be hungry for dinner until later?”

Jared laughed as Gen said, “Yeah, you’d be surprised.

Cas turned to Dean, who shrugged. “How long have you known me?”

“Fine, then. We can stop for dinner on the way to the hotel, as well.”

***

They wandered through gardens, along side streets, and into a few little shops. Since they had no idea if any souvenirs they might buy would make it home with them, Dean and Cas left most of the shopping to Gen and Jared. They did buy a replacement for the bottle of lube they’d used, as well as two new toothbrushes. It only seemed polite. They also splurged on a small but ridiculously expensive box of cookies that Dean nearly fainted over, they were so good. Cas could hardly bear to watch him eat them, the way his eyes rolled back in his head reminding him all too clearly of a similar look he’d seen on Dean’s face that morning.

“It would be cool if we had an interdimensional postal service, you know,” Jared said while they waited outside a shop on the Champs-Élysées for Gen to pay for her purchases. “I’d kinda like to send you guys another box of these macarons.”

“Interdimensional postage might be the only thing more expensive than the fucking cookies,” Dean said. “Gimmie another one.”

Jared laughed and passed the box back to Dean. “They are damn good.”

“Agreed,” Cas said, reaching for another. “I find these very enjoyable.”

Gen emerged from the shop she’d been in and looked down into the empty cookie box, and then at the guilty faces of the three men with colorful crumbs all over their shirts. “Did you guys eat forty bucks worth of macarons in the ten minutes I was in there?”

Dean looked down at the box in his lap, happily chewing. “Looks that way.”

“Cas, I’m surprised you went along with them. I thought we were a team, a united front against disgusting eating habits?” she said with a grin.

Cas shrugged, holding the last macaron out to her as a peace offering. “They are surprisingly delicious.”

She just shook her head. “Nah, it’s all yours. Just don’t let me hear any complaints about stomach aches from any of you.”

They eventually wandered all the way to the Arc de Triomphe, when Cas pulled out his trusty little guidebook. “According to this schedule, the Arc is still open, if you would feel better about climbing to the top of that, Dean.”

Dean looked up at the huge stone arch and agreed to give it a try. “At least it looks solid.”

They hiked around the huge traffic circle surrounding the monument and found the pedestrian tunnel that would lead them to the center, and the top of the Arc. Even past eight at night, the sun was still shining, and the view was magnificent. They could see half of Paris, including the Eiffel Tower. Dean yelled out to the people he imagined were atop it several miles away, “Hah, suckers! My tower’s just as good as your tower.”

Cas snorted, but let Dean have his moment. When Dean heard him laugh, he turned to Cas in challenge. “You wanna argue about it? Look,” Dean jumped up and down a few times. “Solid.”

“Yes, Dean. I’m glad you like it.”

Dean threw his arm around Cas and admired the view. “I really do, Cas. When I woke up Saturday morning, I thought this whole thing would suck. But damn, I think I owe Rhiannon an apology, and maybe a box of those cookies.” He grinned at Cas and then leaned in for a quick kiss.

Cas glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, but then he realized he didn’t care, and kissed Dean back. He didn’t notice Gen covertly snap a picture of them, but he wouldn’t have minded if he had.

***

They ended up back at the same restaurant they’d eaten at the night before, a few blocks from their hotel. The fans who’d been in town for the convention were long gone by now, and the restaurant was nearly empty that late on a Monday night.

They were determined to enjoy their last few hours in Paris though, and by the time they were done with dessert, it was nearly eleven o’clock.

“What time do you think it’ll happen,” Jared asked as they walked back to their hotel. They’d already agreed it would be safest for them to be somewhere private, rather than have Jensen and Misha reappear suddenly out in public, disoriented and possibly freaking out from having spent three days with Sammy. They hadn’t discussed exact details of their plans with Jared, but they figured the timeframe was a safe topic of conversation.

“We’re not entirely sure,” Cas replied. “The last person we spoke with had wished to own his own bar, and it vanished after closing time, about two am.”

“Yeah, it disappeared as we were walking out the fucking door,” Dean added.

“And the other people’s wishes?” Gen asked, genuinely curious since having heard of some of the strange wishes Rhiannon had granted the people of Laramie.

Dean shrugged. “We don’t know for sure. They all just woke up the next morning and everything was back to normal. But none of them knew their wishes had an expiration date, so they wouldn’t have thought to pay attention.”

Cas nodded as Dean reached out to open the door to their hotel and ushered everyone inside. They rode the elevator in silence, remaining quiet until they were back inside their suite.

“So I guess this is it, yeah?” Jared asked, before stepping forward suddenly and hugging Dean. “It’s really been amazing getting to know you, Dean. Thank you so much. I mean, I can’t even put it into words. Just, thank you.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, hugging him back. “Same here.”

Jared then hugged Cas, much to Cas’s surprise. Over Jared’s shoulder, Dean made a face at him and mimed hugging, wrapping his arms around the empty air in front of him while Gen bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh, until Cas hugged Jared back.

“I’m actually hugging an angel. A real, live angel,” Jared said. “Thank you, Cas. You are awesome, and I’m grateful I got to meet you.”

“Well, I’m not an angel anymore, but you’re welcome. It has been an enlightening and enjoyable weekend. Dean and I are grateful to you both.”

Gen then gave each of them a hug and wished them the best. “You guys keep each other safe, you hear? I hate it when Jen and Mish get hurt on the show, but now I’m gonna hate it even more, worrying about you guys. So be good, right?” Her tone was scolding, but her eyes were soft and tear-filled as she hugged them each again.

“So, do you want to hang out with us out here, or do you think she’ll wait until you’re asleep to take you home?” Jared asked.

Dean glanced at Cas and shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long damn day.”

Cas nodded. “It has been tiring, and there is a good chance she won’t retrieve us while we’re awake. Traveling between alternate realities is taxing, at least for angels. I don’t completely understand Rhiannon’s magic, or if it differs significantly from mine, but I always found it even more difficult than traveling through time. It would probably be best if we were asleep for it.”

Dean’s mind flashed over the times that Cas had nearly killed himself flinging them back to the 1970’s, and then all the way back to 1861. That time he’d nearly killed Bobby, too, in the effort to get them back. At least this time Cas wouldn’t take the hit for transporting them home, but the memories had taken on a new layer of horror now that he couldn’t imagine living without Cas. “Yeah. Definitely. I can agree with that one.”

Cas heard the strain in Dean’s voice and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, telling Jared, “Dean doesn’t liked to be zapped. He prefers driving.”

Jared laughed, “Yeah, I heard about that.”

“So if you’re done talking about me like I’m not even standing here,” Dean said, “Then I guess this is it.”

Jared nodded. “Thanks again, guys, this has been indescribable. Like, literally. I can’t imagine telling anyone about this. I hope they write it into the show, otherwise I’ll probably spend the rest of my life trying to convince myself it really happened.”

Gen took his hand, and agreed. “Yeah, guys. Thank you for everything.”

“And give our thanks to Jensen and Misha,” Dean replied. “We owe them a lot, too. Most likely we owe them an apology… or twelve, but just tell them thanks.”

“Will do,” Jared said, turning with Gen toward their bedroom. “Good night.”

“Yeah, g’night.”

***

Back in their room, Dean laid the new toothbrushes, still in their packaging, next to the new bottle of lube on the bathroom counter, before brushing his teeth next to Cas. It occurred to him that they should leave something more behind, something more personal to show their gratitude. He and Cas had borrowed these men’s lives for three days and it had changed them for the better. They deserved to know.

“We should write them a letter or something,” Dean suggested after spitting out his toothpaste and rinsing his mouth. “You know, telling them what happened, and stuff.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. They might appreciate hearing about it directly from us.”

“But since we don’t know when we’re getting zapped back, I think we should write in bed,” Dean said, pulling Cas close and planting a minty kiss on him. “You get naked, and then find that pad of paper in the drawer.”

Cas nodded and rushed out of the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

They wrote , trading off writing, but composing the entire note cuddled together in bed. They explained Rhiannon, their respective wishes, and the surprise they’d felt when they learned they’d have to pretend to be married all weekend. They talked about how grateful they were to have had Jared, Gen, and Felicia by their sides to help them through the convention, and how lucky Jensen and Misha were to be able to call them their friends.

A whole page was devoted to their impressions of the fans, and how overwhelmed they were by the love they were shown; and yet another to describing their reactions and feelings about the episode of their show that Jared had shown them, giving the actors a little personal insight into what the spell that had cured the Mark of Cain had felt like in reality.

At the end of the letter, Cas insisted they add at least a few lines asking them to thank all their wonderful friends for them again. Dean grabbed the pen and added one more line apologizing for using up their lube, because he couldn’t resist being at least a little bit of an asshole.

Cas rolled his eyes, but left the line in. If anyone would understand Dean’s strange sense of humor, it would be Jensen and Misha.

They left the note on the nightstand and turned out the light, enfolding themselves together under the blankets. It was already well past midnight, and they knew their time in Paris was running out. They held each other tighter when Dean mentioned the time, because it didn’t matter where they were, or what universe they were in, they were exactly where they wanted to be.

They fell asleep trading slow, lazy kisses, arms and legs entwined, and completely content.


	17. Chapter 17

The next time Dean awoke, he was relieved to feel Cas plastered to his side. Either they were still in Paris, or Jensen and Misha had fallen asleep in much the same way they had, and they were back in Laramie. When he blinked his eyes open and glanced around the room, he was shocked to discover that they were in neither of those places. He and Cas were curled up on his bed, in his room in the bunker.

“What the fuck?” Dean tried to sit up with Cas still clinging to him, and ended up pinned back down to the bed by a very unappreciative and groggy ex-angel.

“Dean? I was sleeping. Why are you yelling?”

“Goddammit, SAMMY!” Dean got a handle on his anger and relaxed against his memory foam under the comforting press of Cas’s body. “He brought them to the bunker, and let them sleep in my bed. Strangers! In my bed! What kind of memories did they give you, huh?” He patted the mattress with one hand, trying to reassure himself that it wasn’t ruined now, somehow.

Cas shook his head at Dean’s ridiculous outburst, and then reminded him. “You invited me to share this room with you, Dean. It’s our room now, not just yours. And I don’t mind that Sam let them stay here. And after spending the last few days living their lives, we can hardly call them strangers.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just not attached to it yet, is all,” Dean replied, still pouting.

Cas grinned, leaned over, and kissed the pout off Dean’s mouth, whispering against his lips, “We will have to give your bed new memories, then.”

A grin slowly broke over Dean’s face, and he was just about to get started on those new memories when they heard heavy running footsteps in the hall, followed by a knock on their door. Dean panicked for a second, because he and Cas had gone to bed naked in Paris. A quick check under the blankets let them know that Jensen and Misha had at least tried to spare their modesty, and had gone to bed in boxers. They were in for a real surprise when they woke up, Dean thought with a grin, before yelling out, “What?” at the persistent knocking that could only be Sam.

The door opened and Sam stuck his head in, looking worried but hopeful. “Dean? Cas? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Sammy, it’s us.” Dean said.

Sam stood in the doorway, gaping at them, because he might’ve grown accustomed to Jen and Misha hanging all over each other all weekend, but seeing _Dean and Cas_ apparently curled up, _snuggling_ in bed together was... not what he’d expected to find. The two of them frantically searching for clothes, Dean ready to tear his head off for letting them share his room-- that would’ve been a scene he could’ve wrapped his head around. This, though... he had no words for it.

Cas was sprawled out, half on top of Dean, with one of Dean’s hands wrapped possessively around the back his neck, the other curled around Cas’s upper arm. Despite Dean’s outburst, neither man seemed upset in the slightest. In fact, Dean had a ridiculous grin plastered on his face, and when Cas turned to face Sam, he looked just as happy as Dean did. And neither of them were moving.

Sam took one cautious step into the room, wary of making a bigger target of himself and more than a little concerned that he was being lured into a trap. He still half expected them to jump out of bed and start yelling. Despite the awkwardness, he had to say something, and decided to focus on a safer topic than _Why have you decided to insert this image into my eyes?_ “So, how was your trip?”

“Awesome, Sammy,” Dean replied, grinning wider as Cas settled against his chest so he wouldn’t have to strain his neck to see Sam. “The convention, the fans, _Paris_. You would’ve loved it. And Jared was just as big a nerd as you are, so it was kinda like having you there anyway.”

“We assume Jensen and Misha took our places here while we took theirs,” Cas said, then waited for confirmation.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they were great guys. I’ll tell you all about it over coffee. Just, could you maybe put some pants on first?”

Dean laughed so hard he couldn’t speak, which left it to Cas to explain, “We seem to be wearing boxers, if that’s any consolation to you.”

“That’s not…” Sam started, but then changed tack. "You guys aren’t upset I let them stay in here, are you? I mean, once we figured out what had happened, I didn’t think there was any point to hanging around Laramie anymore, and it just seemed to make sense to let them use your room, Dean.”

“I was a little freaked at first, waking up here, but Cas talked some sense into me. It’s not like we didn’t do worse to some of their stuff.” Dean shrugged, and Cas laughed low and rumbly against his shoulder so that Dean could feel it rattling through his chest.

Dean dragged his gaze away from Sam, and let it settle on Cas. The look on Dean’s face reminded Sam of the way Dean looked at a particularly tempting slice of pie, or sometimes at the Impala after he’d just waxed her. Like Cas was the only constant thing he had in his life and it was perfectly fine with him.

Sam swallowed and thought he should excuse himself. It was obvious that something big had happened while his brother and his best friend had been gone. Thank god he’d had some time to adjust to the idea, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to Jensen and Misha.

“So, coffee? And then we can swap stories.”

“Sure thing, Sammy. Just give us a few minutes.”

Dean didn’t bother to look up again until he heard the door click shut and Sam’s footsteps retreat down the hall. He stroked the back of Cas’s neck with his fingertips, no longer worried how Sam would react to the new developments in their relationship. It might’ve surprised him, but there was no way he could’ve have misunderstood what he’d seen, and he hadn’t said a damned thing. It was a relief.

“So, we’re back,” Dean said.

“Yes, we are,” Cas replied, a grin spreading across his face. “Does this mean you can tell me about your secret plans for when we returned now?”

“Secret plans?” Dean asked, and then he remembered. “Yeah, I thought maybe we should take Sam to Disney World or something. You know, someplace fun, where there’s no monsters, and no schedule we have to work around. But after spending the day in Paris with you, I’m wondering if he wouldn’t like that even more.”

“Hmm,” Cas replied. “I suppose we had our fun this weekend, and it’s only fair that Sam have a similar experience, yes?”

“Us, too,” Dean hugged Cas tighter. “I mean, meeting all the fans, sitting up on stage and feeling appreciated like that, it was great. But it would be nice to just hang out like normal folks, and maybe hunt down another copy of that tourbook.” Dean waggled his eyebrows at Cas, and Cas grinned.

“We can probably write to the hotel as ask them to send us a copy. We don’t have to travel all the way to Paris for that.”

“Maybe I want to,” Dean replied, pulling Cas in for another kiss.

Cas pulled back after a few minutes though. “Sam will be wondering what happened to us. I believe he said something about making coffee?”

Dean groaned, but conceded. “After breakfast, we’re getting all your stuff and bringing it in here. Then I’m locking us in for at least a week.”

“We’d better make a trip into town first, because a week is a long time to be locked away without lubricant.”

Dean laughed, but they both finally got up. He loaned Cas a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants so he wouldn’t have to make a stop at his room for clothes. As they got dressed, Dean noticed a strange parcel on his nightstand, with several folded sheets of paper resting atop it.

“Cas, hey, look. It looks like we weren’t the only ones who thought to leave a note.”

Dean sat on the edge of the bed beside Cas and they read the note that Jensen and Misha had left for them. Their note, strangely enough, expressed a lot of the same thoughts and thanks that they had written into their own note. Jensen and Misha went on and on about how awesome and accommodating Sam had been, how amazing it was to explore _the actual_ _bunker_ and ride in _the actual Baby_.

They hoped that Dean and Cas hadn’t been entirely overwhelmed by the fan experience and having to go up onstage. Jensen and Misha were confident that Dean and Cas would’ve seen the whole convention through, because they were sure that they weren’t the kind of men to run away from a challenge. It was part of why they loved the characters they played. They’d also had more than a few laughs trying to imagine Jared’s reaction to learning his friends had been swapped out for their characters, and wished they could compare notes on how similar it was to Sam’s reaction.

At the end of the note was an apology for how they’d found themselves when they woke up. They hoped Dean and Cas weren’t too traumatized waking up together again, but at least in a slightly less naked fashion. Dean and Cas shared a laugh at that, because if Jensen and Misha were up, they already knew how unnecessary their little precaution of slipping on a pair of boxers had been.

They grinned at each other as Dean set the note aside for safekeeping, and then reached for the parcel. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a red and white string, but was oddly shaped and they had no idea what could be inside.

Tucked under the string was a second, much shorter note, from Rhiannon. It simply read, _I am overjoyed at how well you used your wishes. May your lives be filled with the happiness you have found._

Dean shrugged, and then set about untying the package. Inside the paper was a copy of their new favorite guidebook to Paris, and two dozen macarons in a pink box marked Ladurée.

“Fuck, yes!” Dean tossed the book to Cas, and opened the box of cookies. “Screw Disney World, we are definitely going back to Paris.”

“You should offer one of your macarons to Sam,” Cas suggested, as they headed out to the kitchen.

Dean clutched the box to his chest, but sighed. “Yeah, I guess we should.” He threw his free arm over Cas’s shoulder, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and smiled. “But he doesn’t get to borrow that book.”

***

And that’s the end. For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who made it here to the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. For future reference, I've begun to write the other half of this story. If you haven't figured out what that might be, or you just skipped to the end to read the notes first: spoiler alert. Sam has a story to tell, too. I'll begin posting that as the second installment of the Everything is Subtext verse as soon as I finish writing it.  
>   
> While you're waiting, feel free to scroll through my tumblr. I tagged posts that remind me of this story as #Revenge of the Subtext, in case you want to check them out. I'm [mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/)


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